UNIVcR  -:TY  OF 
CAL'         .   IA 

SAN       ^GO 


THE    KNOCKERS' 
CLUB 


BY 


NATHANIEL  C.   FOWLER,   JR. 


NEW  YORK 

SULLY  AND  KLEINTEICH 

1913 


CoPTBIQHT,   1913,   BT 

SULLY    AND  KLEINTEICH 
All  rights  reserred 


TO 

THE   PUDDINGSTONE   CLUB 
OF   BOSTON 

this  book  is  affectionately  dedicated. 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 


The  Knockers'  Club 


CHAPTER  I 

IF  you  haven't  much  to  do,  and  don't  care  whether 
you  do  or  don't,  you  may  have  noticed  the  con 
spicuous  absence  of  a  preface. 

What's  the  use  of  it?  If  there's  anything  in  this 
book, — anything  worth  reading  or  skipping, — you'll 
find  it,  or  pass  it,  without  an  introduction. 

I  don't  propose  to  show  my  full  hand  by  starting 
in  to  describe  my  goods  before  you  see  them.  Nor 
shall  I  begin  with  an  apologetic  foreword.  That 
sort  of  thing  has  become  conventionally  chronic. 

Why  not  for  once  have  a  book  without  a  shame- 
felt  preface  to  it? 

Queer,  isn't  it,  that  so  many  folks  knock  the 
"  know  "  out  of  what  they  know  by  discounting  what 
they  have  to  say  before  they  say  it? 

Take  them  as  they  run.  They  begin  with  a  seem 
ingly  bold,  solar-plexus  word-strike,  fairly  hurl  it  at 
the  unprepared  victim,  then  apologize  for  it,  then 
shoot  it  off  again,  then  take  it  back,  then  brace  to 
it,  and  let  it  thrash  itself  about,  forward,  backward, 

and  sideways,  until  the  amazed  and  terrified  reader 

1 


2  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

is  prostrated.  Whereupon  the  wordy  warrior  lifts 
him  up  with  gentle  hand,  rests  his  head  upon  a  downy 
pillow,  feeds  him  with  syrup  and  softness,  only  to 
knock  him  over  again  when  he  thinks  he's  safe, 
wonderfully  intermingling  blows  and  bandages, 
bruises  and  arnica. 

If  you've  got  something  to  say,  or  haven't,  say  it 
at  the  top  of  the  page,  italicize  it  or  capitalize  it, 
and  let  it  stand,  propped  with  the  security  of  as 
surance. 

Don't  build  a  printed  house  and  knock  it  down. 
The  reader  very  willingly  assumes  that  job. 

For  the  foregoing  expressed  reasons,  and  for  sev 
eral  more  equally  good,  but  not  given,  this  book  will 
be  born  without  a  preface,  and  die  without  an  ap 
pendix.  If  I  am  ashamed  of  it,  or  do  not  know 
enough  to  be,  why  shout  it  from  the  book-tops? 

Here's  what  is, — good,  bad,  or  considerably  worse ; 
really  worth  while,  somewhat  so,  or  no  good. 

And  you  don't  have  to  read  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHY  did  I  write  this  book? 
I  was  uninfected    with    the    bacteria  of    a 
literary   culture,   and  was   more   familiar  with   the 
pen  that  keeps  books  than  with  the  pen  that  writes 
them. 

The  indisposition  of  my  prosaic  calling  was  not 
sufficiently  chronic  to  suggest  that  I  change  from 
the  mart  of  trading  to  the  marketing  of  manuscripts. 

Then,  why  did  I  ascend  or  descend  to  the  plane 
of  story  writing,  when  I  was  a  business  man  of  dol 
lars  and  sense,  with  a  record  of  reasonable  honesty 
and  a  reputation  acceptable  to  both  bank  and  trade? 

Environment  did  it. 

The  desire  to  write  came  in  a  night.  I  didn't  seek 
it  or  encourage  it. 

Free  and  clear,  with  a  normally  balanced  mind, 
and  with  some  sanity  about  me,  I  accepted  the  in 
vitation  of  a  friend, — a  scrap-book  compiler, — to  be 
his  guest  at  the  semi-monthly  social  gathering  of 
tiie  Boston  Branch  of  the  Anglo-American  Society 
for  the  Propulsion  of  Literary  Progress. 

I  accepted  the  invitation,  and  drank  the  pale, 
anaemic,  faded,  pink  tea,  ball-and-hand  soused  into 
cups  of  the  vintage  of  prehistoric  pottery. 


4  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

I  listened  to  the  twilight  twitterings  of  pen-fed 
writers,  whose  grindings  and  rhymings  refused  to 
grow  unless  fertilized  with  printers'  ink  and  pro 
tected  by  covers. 

I  was  permitted  to  finger-tip  with  the  authors  of 
this  and  with  the  authoresses  of  that. 

I  mingled  with  the  hewers  of  story  and  with  the 
drawers  of  verse. 

I  heard  the  clatter  of  harvesting,  but  no  sugges 
tion  of  hoeing,  or  digging,  or  planting  reached  my 
optimistic  ears. 

The  flowers  of  story  and  the  perfume  of  verse 
saturated  the  air. 

The  room  was  lighted  with  cloudless  sunshine  and 
self-satisfaction  awoke  with  incubator  prolificness. 

It  was  my  first  visit  to  the  nest  of  authorship, 
where  were  laid  the  eggs  which  hatch  into  hard- 
shelled  books  and  into  soft-shelled  magazines. 

Between  the  draped  windows,  I  met  authors 
covered  with  Prince  Alberts,  because  their  everyday 
suits  were  shabby,  and  hat-wearing  authoresses 
adorned  in  misfits  of  fancy. 

I  was  impressed. 

Around  me  were  men  and  women,  seemingly  care 
free,  of  good  digestion,  who  appeared  to  be  on  ex 
cellent  terms  with  themselves. 

In  the  innocence  of  my  ignorance,  I  said  unto  my 
self,  "  Why  can't  I, — plain,  common,  unlettered  I, — 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  5 

juggle  words  and  toss  sentences  as  well  as  do  those 
about  me,  who,  and  I  say  it  with  malice  toward  none, 
didn't  look,  and  didn't  talk,  as  though  they  knew 
where  what  they  said  came  from  or  where  it  was 
going  to." 

I  had  been,  and  was,  an  everyday  sort  of  a  fel 
low,  known  principally  for  the  brand  of  my  com 
pany  cigars  and  for  my  ability  to  serve  a  luncheon 
or  dinner  appetizingly  satisfactory  to  the  innumer 
able  friends  who  appreciated  gratuitous  hospital 
ity,  and  who  lived  up  to  the  twisted  policy  that  it 
is  far  better  to  take  what  they  can  get  than  to 
give  what  they  can  keep. 

I  had  inherited  and  developed  a  sense  of  business 
and  of  proportion,  and  didn't  propose  to  run  the 
literary  gauntlet,  with  axes  to  right  of  me  and  axes 
to  left  of  me,  and  the  pit  of  unacceptance  ahead  of 
me. 

I  would  apply  business  to  literature,  and  handle 
the  product  of  my  mind  as  though  it  were  a  market 
able  commodity. 

I  wouldn't  negotiate  with  publishers,  as  other  au 
thors  do,  who  cast  their  manuscripts  upon  the  liter 
ary  sea,  where  the  tide  of  luck  ebbs  as  often  as  it 
flows. 

I  wouldn't  leave  it  there,  buoyed  so  that  it 
wouldn't  sink,  and  as  fast  as  it  was  cast  upon  the 
beach  of  return,  gather  it  up,  row  it  out  into  the 


6  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

open  water  again,  throw  it  overboard,  and  let  the 
erratic  currents,  the  unreliable  wind,  and  the  some 
what  dependable  tide  steer  it  at  will. 

I  wouldn't  allow  it  to  call  at  strange  harbors,  to 
clear  itself,  and  to  float  on  and  anon,  until  it 
reached  the  port  of  acceptance. 

I  wish  to  pause  to  give  the  reader  plenty  of  time 
to  become  impressed  with  my  marvelous  manipula 
tion  of  watery  similes  and  salty  metaphors.  At 
every  opportunity  I  propose  to  dive  into  the  depths 
of  the  ocean  and  to  spread  typographical  seaweed 
upon  my  pages.  There's  a  go,  and  a  roar,  and  an 
uncontrollability  about  the  sea  that  appeals  to  me, 
and  I  shall  never  cease  to  encourage  the  billows  to 
break  the  news  of  my  story. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  publisher,  I  would  force 
him  to  come  to  me. 

My  experience  in  handling  the  commodities  of 
life,  assured  me  that  it  was  good  business  to  let 
the  other  fellow  take  the  initiative. 

I  would  apply  the  sense  of  commercialism  to  the 
marketing  of  manuscripts.  I  would  be  a  salesman 
of  my  own  work;  and,  like  the  good  seller,  I  would, 
by  indirection,  bring  the  buyer  to  me  instead  of 
going  to  him. 

A  while  ago  I  was  one  of  the  "  and  other  guests  " 
at  a  banquet.  The  toastmaster  in  introducing  me,  at 
my  own  suggestion,  for  I  never  took  chances  when 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  7 

I  could  control  the  situation,  said:  "Gentlemen,  it 
gives  me  pleasure  to  introduce  to  you  a  man  of 
whom  it  is  said  that  Heaven  help  him  when  he  ap 
proaches  anybody  and  Heaven  help  those  who  ap 
proach  him." 

I  would  be  the  approachee  and  not  the  ap- 
proacher. 

I  would  create  a  demand  for  my  goods,  that  the 
customer  would  ask  for  them  and  call  for  them  by 
name. 

I  had  a  social  acquaintance  with  several  publish 
ers,  and  incidentally  had  contributed  smoking  privi 
leges  to  those  supposedly  necessary  individuals,  who 
are  professionally  known  as  publisher's  editors, 
literary  advisors,  and  diagnosers  of  the  stuff  that 
books  are  made  of. 

With  a  sensitiveness  not  born  of  literature,  and 
by  judicious  manipulation,  I  had  the  extreme  grati 
fication  of  receiving  a  call  from  one  of  these  gentle 
men,  who  will  not  know,  until  he  reads  this  manu 
script,  that  he  didn't  come  of  his  own  volition. 


CHAPTER  in 

T  AM  in  the  presence  of  the  editor  of  my  desired 
•*•  publisher;  but  not  in  his  dusty,  book-walled 
sanctum,  where  the  saints  and  sinners  of  kiln-dried 
literature  and  moldy  verse  are  sleeping  peacefully 
between  their  yellowing  paper  sheets  amid  the  stale 
air  of  Boston's  petrifying  exclusiveness. 

He  is  in  my  office.  I  have  him  where  I  want  him, 
where  I,  not  he,  is  master  of  environment. 

With  an  assurance,  born  of  practice,  he  coolly 
selects  a  cigar  from  the  bottom  of  my  moistener 
box, — I  was  never  able  to  get  a  full  box  together, — 
strikes  one  of  my  matches  upon  the  bottom  of  my 
shoe,  puts  as  much  of  his  feet  upon  the  top  of  my 
desk  as  there  is  room  for,  smokes  in  silence;  and, 
after  a  while,  takes  another  cigar,  lights  it,  and 
remarks,  with  that  familiarity  which  throws  you 
off  your  balance :  "  Say,  Joe,  why  don't  you  write 
a  book  of  alleged  humor?" 

"Why  'alleged'?"  I  ask. 

"  Is  there  any  other  kind?"  he  questions. 

I  remain  silent. 

With    a   look    of    condescension,   which   there    is 

no  serum  strong  enough  to  dissipate,  he  resumes, 

8 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  9 

"  Joe,  the  market  is  short  on  humor.  We're  glutted 
with  essays,  plotless  fiction,  studies  of  what-not  and 
nothing,  of  the  likely-to-be  and  the  impossible,  but 
there  isn't  sufficient  funny  stuff  to  stifle  the  cry  for 
it." 

I  say  nothing. 

"  Now,  what  we  want  is  a  series  of  live-wire  shocks, 
— something  that  sputters  because  it's  off  its  trolley. 
You're  a  sort  of  irresponsible  genius,  a  three- 
quarter  fool.  Your  mind  is  sprung,  and  your  skull 
is  leaky.  But  honestly,  Joe,  I  believe  that  you  can 
give  us  the  kind  of  stuff  that  will  sell." 

"  But  I  can't  write,"  I  reply,  partly  because  I 
really  have  some  misgivings,  but  largely  that  I  may 
put  up  a  show  of  modesty. 

"  Neither  can  the  rest  of  'em,"  he  replies  em 
phatically.  "  You  don't  have  to  say  anything. 
Just  collect  a  bucketful  of  words  that  are  floating 
about,  stir  'em  up,  spread  'em  out,  stick  'em  to 
gether,  any  way  but  the  right  way,  and  there  you 
are." 

"Is  that  the  prescription  for  compounding  a 
book?"  I  query  innocently. 

"  Not  exactly  a  prescription,  for  a  prescription 
is  likely  to  be  consistent,  and  consistency  of  all 
things  must  be  avoided.  Say,  Joe,"  he  continues, 
"  why  can't  you  do  it  ?  " 

"But  I  never  did  it." 


10  THE    KNOCKERS5   CLUB 

"  So  much  the  better.  Your  folly  is  all  the  more 
likely  to  be  original.  Because  you  don't  know  how 
to  do  it,  you'll  do  it.  Just  hustle  round,  collect  the 
debris  of  your  mind,  and  of  others  who,  like  you, 
spill  over,  especially  the  sayings  that  are  senseless, 
and  the  situations  that  even  a  miracle  would  hesi 
tate  to  tackle.  Write  'em  out,  hit  or  miss.  Follow 
no  rule.  Copy  nobody.  Don't  think,  and  maybe 
you'll  make  a  ten  strike." 

All  of  a  sudden  he  jumps  to  his  feet. 

"Joe!"  he  shouts,  "I  have  it!  Write  up  the 
Knockers'  Club !  Don't  use  all  of  the  members,  but 
pick  out  a  fellow  here  and  there,  and  run  'em  to 
gether,  say  six  in  all.  The  members  of  that  dis 
organization  could  get  life-jobs  in  the  cabinet  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief  of  Folly,  if  he  needed  help.  A 
bigger  bunch  of  self-idolizing  idiots  cannot  be  found 
in  the  combined  asylums  of  incurables.  Each  and 
every  member  is  an  expert  at  something  there  isn't 
a  market  for.  They're  the  crowning,  capping 
climaxes  of  self-inflation  and  consummate  conceited- 
ness.  You  know  Caxton?  " 

I  nod. 

"  Well,  he  went  to  one  of  their  meetings,  wore  his 
waving  hair,  his  soup-absorbing  mustache,  his  sheet- 
wide  necktie,  and  his  egg-etched  vest.  He  took  a 
long,  lingering  look  at  the  crowd.  Silently  he  with 
drew,  had  a  clean  shave  and  a  hair-cut,  took  his 


THE   KNOCKERS'    CLUB  11 

clothes  to  the  laundry,  slit  his  necktie  into  seven 
pieces,  and  looked  like  other  men." 

"Why  did  he  do  it?"  I  inquire. 

"  I  asked  him,"  replies  the  editor,  with  a  look  that 
would  have  drawn  sympathy  from  a  Back  Bay  min 
ister,  "  and  he  answered,  'What's  the  use? '  " 

"As  I  understand  the  situation,"  I  say,  "you 
want  me  to  pick  out  five  or  six  Knockers,  dress  and 
clean  'em  up,  set  'em  on  edge,  attach  strings  and 
springs  to  'em,  and  make  'em  dance  for  the  amuse 
ment  of  the  public." 

"No,  that  isn't  just  it.  I  suggest  that  you  use 
some  of  the  members  as  the  basis  for  your  char 
acters,  and  that  you  take  'em  as  they  are,  without 
attempting  to  burlesque  'em.  In  the  calm  uncon 
sciousness  of  their  nakedness,  they're  funny  enough. 
They  don't  need  clothes,  paint,  or  powder.  It's  an 
easy  job  I'm  giving  you  to  do.  You  won't  have  to 
create,  build,  alter,  or  repair.  Just  describe  and 
repeat,  that's  all." 

"  But  why  don't  you  ask  a  professional  writer  to 
tackle  the  job.  There's  Maxwell,  for  example. 
He's  a  sort  of  perpetual  Sapolio,  so  bright,  so  bril 
liant,  that  folks  say  he  uses  a  metal-cleaner  for 
polishing  his  face.  Even  brass  looks  like  gold  if 
you  take  care  of  it." 

"  No  good,"  the  editor  replies  decidedly.  "  Max 
well  shines  by  brass  alone.  He  has  more  conceit  to 


12  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

the  cubic  inch  than  the  mystery-story  writer  carries 
to  the  cubic  foot.  He  would  interject  into  it  some 
of  the  stuff  he  calls  wit.  He'd  put  his  own  jumble 
of  words  into  their  mouths.  Just  because  a  fool 
publisher  offered  to  shove  his  manuscripts  into  day 
light,  if  he'd  put  up  a  guarantee  against  loss,  he 
thinks  he's  the  biggest  brilliant  on  the  ring  of  fame. 
No  Maxwell  for  me." 

"  How  would  Charlie  Parr  do?"  I  suggest. 

"  Jumping  Jacks !  "  he  exclaims.  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  Charlie  try  to  set  off  a  joke  some  one  had  given 
him?  It's  painful.  Even  the  joke  weeps.  He 
hasn't  as  much  sense  of  humor  as  remains  in  a  left 
over  scare-crow  waving  above  a  cornless  field." 

"  There's  Newton  Cone.     He  has  a  reputation." 

"For  what,  pray?" 

"  For  manufacturing  fun  by  the  quart,  pint,  or 
glass,  two-thirds  foam." 

"  I  told  you,  Joe,"  he  replies,  "  I  don't  want  to  be 
the  receptacle  for  the  jokes  that  have  been  in  can 
for  twenty  years.  I  want  a  man,  not  an  author." 

"You  mean  me?  " 

"  Yes,  you !  You  have  no  style  of  your  own, 
haven't  enough  originality  to  be  seen  under  a 
microscope,  but  you've  a  sort  of  unworked  spontane 
ity  that  will  allow  you  to  show  up  a  thing  as  it 
is,  and  not  try  to  exhibit  it  as  a  monstrosity  of  your 
brain." 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  13 

"  Thanks ! "  I  remark. 

"  I  want  something  different,  and  you're  differ 
ent.  You've  nothing  in  common  with  authors. 
Your  academic  education  is  below  par,  you  haven't 
been  school-trained  enough  to  have  any  prejudice 
or  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  the  traditions. 
You're  just  an  ordinary  chump, — nothing  distinc 
tive  about  you, — a  plain,  mighty  plain,  man,  with 
sufficient  sense  to  do  any  kind  of  a  job  that  you're 
told  to  do." 

"Anything  more  I'm  not?"  I  inquire,  with  due 
humility. 

"This  is  business,"  he  replies.  "  Business  doesn't 
play  favorities,  nor  lubricate  the  bearings  with  the 
oil  of  flattery.  It  speaks  the  truth  when  it's  talk 
ing  to  itself.  Come  now,  will  you  do  it?  " 

"What's  in  it  for  me?" 

"There  you  go,  always  thinking  of  financial 
gain!  *  What's  in  it  for  you?'  Fame,  my  boy, 
fame!  Alongside  of  your  superiors  you  will  rest  in 
our  catalogue.  Do  you  comprehend  what  that 
means?  Of  course  not.  But  wait!  You'll  be 
alphabetically  arranged  in  *  Who's  It,'  alongside  of 
authors  with  publishers,  statesmen  with  jobs, 
philanthropists  on  salary,  and  other  notorious  per 
sonages.  Your  name  will  appear  all  over  the  coun 
try.  Photographers  will  snap-shot  you,  and  copy 
right  your  pictures,  and  when  you  want  to  give  a 


14  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

reference,  you  won't  have  to  write  it  out,  but  just 
sign  your  name,  and  say,  *  See  page  109  of  "  Who's 
It."  '  You'll  be  a  man  of  mark." 

"You  mean,  a  marked  man." 

"Don't  interrupt,  please.  I  offer  you  Fame, 
FAME!  Opportunity  may  not  pass  through  your 
street  again.  Better  grab  it  while  it's  there." 

I  grab  it. 

The  genuine  beginning  of  my  story  occurs  on  the 
next  page,  under  the  caption  of  Chapter  IV. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HERE  were  six  of  us — the  inner  coterie  of  that 
•*•     circle  of  "  differents  "  which  composed  what  is 
known  as  the  Knockers'  Club  of  Boston,  the  only 
organization  of  its  grade  and  kind  of  the  past,  of 
the  present,  and  probably  of  the  future. 

The  Knockers'  Club  is  unique.  Outsiders  may 
describe  it  in  a  more  strenuous  way.  It  is  made  up 
of  a  conglomeration  of  men  with  as  many  minds,  each 
conspicuously  known  as  the  farthest  removed  from 
his  fellows.  Yet  this  very  difference  of  intellects, 
viewpoints,  and  characters  binds  the  Knockers  to 
gether  with  a  fraternal  cement  which  makes  Masonic 
affiliation  as  unadliesive  as  is  the  gum  on  the  flap  of 
a  twice-used  envelope. 

The  Knockers'  Club  has  no  by-laws,  no  president, 
no  code  of  rules,  regulations,  or  principles.  It  is 
devoid  of  policy,  and  of  all  those  attributes  which 
seem  to  be  necessary  for  the  building  up  and  hold 
ing  together  of  the  framework  of  organization,  save 
an  irresistible,  unconquerable,  ever-persistent  desire 
to  cast  a  melting  pot  which  would  stand  the  strain 
of  any  kind  of  combustible  contents. 

Its  members, — absolutely  no  two   alike   and  un- 
15 


16  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

dupeciable, — represent  men  who  do  things,  not  al 
ways  the  right  thing,  men  who  can't  or  won't  get  out 
of  the  lime-light,  most  of  them  geared-up  cranks, 
each  with  a  different  speed. 

But  bless  the  cranks!  If  it  were  not  for  them, 
there  would  be  nobody  to  turn  the  world  around. 

An  unwritten,  yet  always  lived-up-to,  rule  of  the 
Club, — its  only  discipline,  if  it  has  any, — punishes  a 
member,  who,  while  at  Club,  treats  his  fellows  with 
any  apparent  consideration,  or  speaks  of  another 
with  even  the  suspicion  of  respect  or  admiration. 
Each  member  is  a  knocker,  each  wields  a  sword  with 
a  handle  at  both  ends,  which  never  maims  nor 
wounds  him  who  holds  it  nor  him  who  is  struck  at. 

It  is  obvious  that  this  latitude  gives  each 
Knocker  the  untrammeled  right  to  say  what  he 
pleases  to  his  fellows,  and  to  tell  the  unclothed  truth 
about  them,  to  the  fullness  of  total  nudity. 

If  anybody  gets  mad,  he  knows  enough  to  keep 
still  about  it.  The  knocks  are  impersonal,  though 
personally  directed. 

The  Club  holds  monthly  dinners  or  meetings,  with 
a  new  presiding  officer  each  time,  who  never  sits  at 
the  head  table,  because  there  isn't  any  head  table. 

The  season  winds  up  with  an  outing,  held  at  the 
country  residence  of  some  member,  away  from  the 
criticising  world,  where,  under  the  trees,  are  done 


THE    KNOCKERS5   CLUB  17 

things  and  said  things  which  never  appear  even  in 
the  appendix  of  the  catalogue  of  convention. 

Men  with  national  reputations,  tailed  with  a  long 
line  of  degrees,  vie  with  each  other  in  getting  down 
to  the  rock-bottom  sub-soil  of  dissension.  Burlesque 
circuses  are  held  in  sawdust  rings,  with  a  big  banker 
for  ring-master,  and  a  minister  and  a  lawyer  for 
clowns.  Representative  pedagogues  leave  their 
pedagogy  at  home,  and  literally  gambol  on  the 
green.  Editors,  who  never  smile  elsewhere,  here 
wear  a  perpetual  grin.  Sad,  serious,  and  sedate 
judges  slide  off  of  the  bench  into  the  soft  sand  of 
the  playground. 

Such  is  the  Knockers'  Club,  which  gives  opportun 
ity  for  men  of  mind  to  give  their  heads  a  vacation, 
to  let  down  the  bars,  and  to  run  amuck  once  a 
month  in  the  Club  dining-room,  and  once  a  year  in 
the  open  fields. 


CHAPTER  V 

WITH  the  Knockers'  Club  as  a  whole  I  shall 
not  deal.  I  shall  select  five  of  my  special  fel 
low  members, — a  club  within  a  club, — and  add  the 
reader  to  their  membership,  that  we  may  for  a  time 
travel  together  the  paths  of  chance. 

It  would  be  discourteous  not  to  introduce  you  to 
the  other  members  of  the  cast,  so  I  will  give  you 
a  sort  of  condensed  "  Who's  Who  "  of  each  of  them. 
But  let  me  say  right  here,  that  none  of  the  minia 
ture  biographies  has  been  revised  by  its  principal. 
The  truth  of  what  I  shall  say  about  them  is  not 
guaranteed;  but,  honestly,  it  may  be  nearer  to  it 
than  would  be  likely  to  occur  if  my  biographies  were 
their  autobiographies. 

Professor  Archibald  Rollins  wouldn't  like  it  if  I 
didn't  bill  him  at  the  head  of  the  cast.  Filled  with 
a  full  self-appreciation  of  his  wonderful  powers  of 
analysis,  he  sticks  his  head  into  the  sand  of  his  con 
ceit,  and  vigorously  wiggles  his  legs. 

He's  a  psychological  finder  of  reasons,  one  of 
those  over-crammed  freighters  of  pedagogical  in 
formation,  who  refuse  to  say  anything,  or  to  do  any 
thing,  or  to  think  anything,  until  it  is  card-indexed 

18 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  19 

in  the  cells  of  their  spongy  brains,  and  has  come  un- 
scorched  from  out  the  crucibles  in  their  laborious 
laboratories. 

Arch  demands  a  reason  for  even  reason  itself.  He 
reasons  with  reason  until  the  reasonableness  of  rea 
son  becomes  unreason.  He  has  no  patience  with 
anything  which  will  not  bare  itself  to  his  analysis. 
He  would  turn  his  back  on  the  sunset,  if  he  were 
unable  to  fathom  the  stream  of  its  lights  and  shad 
ows,  and  trace  it  to  it  source.  His  nerveless 
glasses  see  no  outside  to  anything,  except  as  the  out 
side  mirrors  the  inside.  The  world,  both  material 
and  immaterial,  consists  wholly  of  interiors  and 
sources,  created  solely  to  give  him  opportunity  to 
discover  what  each  initial  or  subsequent  impulse  was 
at  its  inception,  is  now, — if  it  still  lives, — and  will 
be,  if  it  doesn't  die. 

Arch  would  relegate  everything  without  a  pedigree 
to  the  junk-heap. 

He  deals  in  arrivals  and  departures,  mainly,  and 
has  presents  in  stock  only  because  the  money-getting 
president  of  his  college  ordered  his  associates  and 
assistants  to  carry  the  goods  which  the  commerical 
contributors  desired  to  have  on  sale  in  the  class 
rooms,  where  their  notoriety  was  stamped  upon  the 
Chairs  they  paid  for. 

If  Arch  had  green-apple  stomach-ache,  he 
wouldn't  administer  capsicum,  or  Jamaica  ginger,  or 


20  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

bicarbonate  of  soda,  or  bismuth,  or  pepsin.  He 
would  attempt  to  locate  the  reason  for  the  special 
wiggle  of  the  particular  brain  cell  which  suggested 
green-apple  stomach-ache  in  preference  to  any  other 
kind;  and  when  he  had  found  it,  he  would  run  it 
backwards,  that  he  might  place  his  finger  upon  that 
pre-stomach-ache,  controlling  atom  of  the  sub-con 
scious  mind  which  seems  to  prefer  that  peculiar 
brand  of  physical  pain  that  refuses  to  manifest  it 
self  except  when  encouraged  into  action  by  the  in 
ternal  application  of  green  apples. 

If  you  laughed  at  one  of  his  jokes,  he  would  take 
you  and  his  joke  to  his  laboratory,  dissect  you  and 
the  joke,  and  discover  the  reason  why  that  particu 
lar  joke  affected  you  in  a  particular  way  at  that 
particular  time.  He  would  reason  it  out  that,  if  he 
had  sprung  that  joke  upon  you  an  hour  earlier  or 
later,  your  reaction  would  have  been  just  so  many 
grams  less  or  more  pronounced. 

Ask  him  about  anything  or  anybody,  from  the 
fellow  who  discovered  ether  to  the  chap  who  wore 
the  heavy-weight  belt,  and  he'll  tell  you  why  the  doc 
tor  wasn't  a  pugilist,  and  why  the  prize  fighter 
wasn't  a  medicine-mixer.  Psychology,  to  him,  ex 
plained  why  the  Sphinx  won't  talk,  and  why  the  suf 
fragette  does. 

He  has  on  tap  a  psychological  solvent  or  reason 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  21 

for  every  mystery,  for  why  this  is,  and  for  why  that 
is  not. 

One  day,  when  we  were  rowing, — or,  rather,  I 
was,  for  Arch's  psychology  furnished  a  reason  to 
him  why  I  should  row  and  why  he  shouldn't, — on  a 
mountain-guarded  lake,  where  the  lights  and  shad 
ows  multiplied  the  primary  colors,  and  threw  a 
glowing  atmosphere  over  land  and  water,  I  casually 
called  his  attention  to  the  scene,  and  naturally  used 
outdoor  language  in  expressing  myself.  Like  a 
flash  he  pounced  upon  me. 

"  Joe,"  he  said,  in  that  twice  measured  voice  of 
his,  which  drives  chips  onto  both  of  your  shoulders, 
"  you  do  not  present  the  theme  with  any  degree  of 
scientific  correctness.  You  speak  of  a  *  medley  of 
color.'  *  Medley'  is  not  the  word  to  be  used.  I 
see  around  me  a  gathering  together  of  the  purples, 
the  basic  hue  which  predisposes  to  assert  itself  when 
sky,  earth,  and  water  meet  in  a  conglomeration  of 
prismatic  intimacy." 

I  rocked  the  boat. 

At  another  time,  while  he  was  parading  a  freshly 
dug-up  reason  for  the  reasonableness  of  rationality, 
I  awoke  long  enough  to  ask  him  to  give  me  a  defini 
tion  of  psychology. 

"  Psychology,"  he  said,  "  is  the  science  or  art  of 
locating  the  locatable  in  any  locality." 


22  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"  I  see,"  I  replied,  out  of  courtesy.  "  But  what's 
the  use  of  it?  " 

Areh  lifted  his  foot  to  kick  me,  thought  better 
of  his  foot,  and  replied,  "  Psychology  enables  even 
a  chump  like  you  to  discover  why  you  make  an  ass 
of  yourself." 

I  brayed. 

Arch  immediately  separated  that  bray  into  its 
component  parts,  worked  it  back  into  the  dim  past, 
and  actually  called  its  forebears  by  name. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TOM  appears  next  on  the  program.  "Tom"  is 
the  only  name  he  has.  Whistle  "  Tom,"  and  he 
comes  to  you.  The  directory  prints  him  as  simple 
"  Tom."  He  signs  his  checks  "  Tom."  Everybody 
calls  him  "  Tom."  Address  him  by  the  other  end  of 
his  name,  and  he  stares  at  you. 

By  number  of  years,  Tom  could  have  played  old- 
man  parts,  but  the  world  cast  him  as  its  leading 
juvenile.  He  looked  the  original  Santa  Glaus, — a 
snow-capped  mountain,  with  avalanches  of  white 
around  the  sides,  his  ears  sticking  out  like  red  lights 
of  conviviality. 

Tom  is  an  overgrown  cabbage  of  good  nature. 
(You  know  a  cabbage  is  all  heart.)  He's  a  run 
ning  stream  of  good-will  for  everybody,  notwith 
standing  he's  the  champion,  all-around  kicker  of  the 
universe.  He  never  agrees  with  anybody,  including 
himself. 

Tom's  too  contrary  to  have  his  own  way.  If  he 
happens  to  decide  upon  a  thing,  he  immediately  whit 
tles  it  into  a  chip,  puts  it  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
knocks  it  off.  He  will  argue  nothing  into  something, 
and  reverse  the  process.  And  yet  he  lives  on  good 
terms  with  himself  and  with  everybody  else. 

23 


34  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

Tom's  sunflower  smile  glows  through  the  thin 
cloud  of  his  anger.  You  can't  get  mad  at  him,  for 
you  don't  want  to;  but,  rather,  have  an  irrepressi 
ble  desire  to  stir  him  up.  For  Tom  is  positively 
beautiful  when  on  the  rampage. 

In  repose  Tom  reminds  you  of  a  jellyfish,  bask 
ing  in  the  wet  sand, — motionless,  thoughtless,  and 
useless.  But  when  he's  kicking,  he's  the  personi 
fication  of  cheerfulness,  and  actually  reels  with  the 
intoxication  of  beneficence. 

I  have  known  Tom  for  thirty  years.  I  first  met 
him  on  his  sixty-fourth  birthday,  and  he  celebrated 
his  twenty-first  birthday  yesterday. 

Tom  was  the  only  one  of  us  who  had  swum  the 
sad  sea  of  sentiment.  The  rest  of  us  were  not  only 
free  and  clear  in  the  open  present,  but  wore  no  scars 
of  past  disaster. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  we  were  wholly  girl- 
free,  for  none  of  us  had  any  sustained  prejudice 
against  the  sex  that  folks  unfairly  call  fair,  when 
it  averages  up  to  more  than  fair. 

We  have  been  seen  in  the  company  of  women. 
Three  times,  one  of  us,  well-chaperoned,  accom 
panied  a  girl  to  a  picnic  held  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Association  for  the  Propagation  of  Prismatic 
Reflections,  one  of  Boston's  quadruple  gross  of  or 
ganizations,  which  offer  excuses  for  going  out.  and 
which  have  society  seats  for  sale  or  to  let. 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  25 

Another  of  us  rides  every  morning  on  the  same 
train  with  a  girl  he  can't  avoid  without  being  an 
hour  late  at  his  office.  Still  another  of  us  belongs 
to  a  men's  club  largely  attended  by  women.  And 
another  of  us  actually,  premeditatedly,  and  with  full 
realization  of  what  he  is  doing,  gives  his  sister  an 
antiseptic  kiss  every  other  Sunday. 

But  none  of  us,  save  Tom,  has  had  any  working 
experience  with  women.  Tom,  forty-five  years  ago, 
was  the  skirt-binder  of  his  town.  He  stood  in  the 
center  of  a  ring  of  girls. 

Who  said  that  there  is  safety  in  numbers?  Non 
sense  !  Tom,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  had  on 
hand  the  options  of  sixteen  girls  of  assorted  sizes, 
classes,  complexion,  disposition,  and  financial  em 
barrassments. 

Tom  has  the  distinction  of  being  the  inventor  of 
the  Lovers'  Mailing  Can.  It  consists  of  a  syrup- 
proof  receptacle  of  sufficient  loading  capacity  to 
carry  twenty-four  quires  of  rose-colored  and  sachet- 
scented  paper  through  the  mails,  without  danger  of 
leakage. 

Years  ago  Tom  had  a  dozen  of  them  constantly 
in  transit.  He  hasn't  destroyed  them,  but  keeps 
them  still  in  a  fireproof  vault,  directly  under  a  net 
of  sprinkling  pipes,  in  fear  of  spontaneous  combus 
tion. 

But   Tom   is   cured.     To-day   he   is   a   confirmed 


26  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

bachelor;  and  yet, — dare  I  say  it? — he  may  not  be 
so  securely  man-locked  that  sometime  some  woman 
may  not  be  able  to  pick  him. 

At  this  stage  of  the  very  pleasant  game  of  play 
ing  the  men  I  live  with,  I  am  undecided  as  to  whether 
or  not  I  will  close  my  narrative  with  the  plunging 
of  Tom  into  the  rock-filled  torrent  of  love,  and  sub 
ject  him  to  matrimonial  punishment.  Tom  is  a 
pliable  chap,  and  would  generously  sail  up  and  down 
the  stream  of  sentiment,  as  a  favor  to  me;  but  it 
may  be  wiser  to  let  him  remain  where  he  is,  and  as 
he  is,  than  to  take  chances  with  what  might  happen 
if  I  put  even  a  silken  halter  around  his  neck,  and 
drew  in  the  slack. 

I  love  Tom,  and  Tom  loves  me.  Everybody  loves 
Tom,  and  Tom  loves  everybody.  When  he  kicks  off 
his  mortal  legs,  there  will  not  be  a  church,  nor  a 
hall,  big  enough  to  hold  half  the  people,  who,  for 
the  first  time,  will  see  Tom  in  repose. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ALLOW  me  the  signal  honor  of  introducing  to 
you  Walter  Watson,  editor-in-chief  of  the 
"Boston  Morning  and  Evening  Talkophone,"  a 
paper  of  much  past  and  of  considerable  present. 

The  World  couldn't  help  knowing  Walt,  or  see 
ing  him  either.  He's  between  six  and  seven  feet  in 
the  perpendicular,  with  a  corresponding  circumfer 
ence,  and  a  great  depth  of  diameter.  His  head  is 
long,  and  as  thick  as  it  is  long.  His  shoes  are 
made  on  contract  at  the  Fore  River  Ship  Yards. 
His  face  resembles  a  full  moon, — caused  by  the  full 
ness  of  his  good  nature. 

He  walks  with  an  artificial  dignity,  which  he  must 
wear  or  lose  his  job;  for  dignity,  real  or  assumed,  is 
a  Boston  journalistic  commodity,  and  he  who  is  un 
clothed  with  it  is  unfit  to  appear  in  the  allied  society 
of  book-writing  litterateurs,  who  would  be  nothing, 
if  not  particular  to  adjust  themselves  to  the  code  of 
behavior  which  owes  its  stiffness  to  the  straight- 
laced  stays  of  confined  refinement. 

Walt  is  one  of  the  few  newspaper  men  who  know 
more  than  how  to  write.  Back  of  his  flying  pen  is 

knowledge  enough,  and  experience  enough,  and  abil- 

27 


28  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

ity  enough,  to  outweigh  a  gross  of  college-ground 
journalists,  who  write  the  words  that  soar,  while 
their  readers  snore,  and  which  are  too  light  to  tip 
a  hair-trigged  scale,  and  too  fireless  to  burn  a  hole 
in  phosphorescent  lint. 

In  heart  and  mind,  he  is  as  simple  as  a  man  who  is 
big  enough  to  be  simple.  He  is  a  wonder  at  word- 
fitting.  Give  him  the  least  to  write  about,  and  he 
will  make  a  page  of  it.  All  good  stuff,  too,  for  he 
can  fit  something  into  nothing,  and  make  much  out 
of  little. 

I've  seen  Walt  build  a  city  out  of  a  cord  of  wood, 
and  burn  up  a  whole  town  with  a  broken  match  and 
nothing  to  strike  it  on. 

Walt  has  the  sweetest,  simplest  style.  Words 
fairly  pour  off  his  fountain  pen.  (Walt  uses  a  type 
writer, — but  why  substitute  for  the  hand-felt  pen  the 
hand-hit  keyboard,  which  has  a  spring  for  a  heart, 
just  for  the  sake  of  writing  the  truth?) 

Walt's  versatility  allows  him  to  jump  from  dinner 
talk  into  convention,  to  elect  his  man  before  a  roll 
call.  He  can  clip  for  the  "  Only  Woman's  Page," 
as  easily  as  he  can  dip  into  the  prehistoric,  and  he 
can  typographically  prove  that  what  seems  to  be  is 
not,  because  it  never  was  in  the  first  place. 

Walt  has  ascended  to  the  mastery  of  every  depart 
ment  of  newspaperdom, — one  round  at  a  time, — get 
ting  there  by  the  slow  and  never  back-stepping 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  29 

walk  of  that  experience  which  has  no  patience  with 
the  man  who  jumps  and  spurts  and  falls  exhausted 
on  the  road. 

Modest  as  Walt  is,  retiring  as  he  tries  to  be,  he 
has  one  superlative  boast, — one  thing  above  all  his 
other  accomplishments  which  he  hangs  a  red  light 
upon,  that  all  the  world  may  honor  him  for  the  great 
thing  he  has  not  done,  and  for  the  tremendous 
sacrifice  he  has  made:  Walt  stands  on  the  pillar  of 
undying  and  unreachable  journalistic  fame  as  the 
only  newspaper  man,  the  only  wielder  of  a  pen,  who 
never  wrote  a  rhyme  and  called  it  poetry. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

,  there  is  Professor  Benjamin  Knowlton, 
manipulator  of  mechanics,  direct  descendant  of 
a  fatherhood  of  screws,  belts,  cogs,  and  Wheels — 
of  everything  that  turns  around. 

But  the  Professor  is  a  scientist,  not  an  engineer, 
one  of  those  fellows  who  pour  their  lubricating  oil 
on  paper  and  wonder  at  the  hot  boxes. 

Give  the  Professor  a  table  of  speeds  and  slow 
downs,  and  he  will  run  a  locomotive  off  of  the  track. 
In  his  laboratory  he  has  built  shafts  which  will  not 
move  outside  of  a  vacuum,  and  cranks  that  dead- 
center  at  the  half-turn.  His  wonderful  discoveries 
march  on  paper,  and  few  of  them  do  more  than 
mark  time  on  the  road. 

The  Professor  is  long  on  theory,  and  short  on 
practice;  great  in  thought,  and  little  in  action. 

Because  the  Professor  knows  so  much,  and  ac 
complishes  so  little,  he  holds  the  chair  of  applied 
mechanics  in  one  of  our  largest  vocational  shops, 
under  the  protective  guidance  of  a  coterie  of  egoistic 
educators,  men  who  excavate  curious  curriculums 
from  out  of  the  depths  of  ancient  earth,  that  they 
may  raise  the  yeasty  youngster  of  to-day  with  the 

left-over  leaven  of  yesterday. 

20 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  31 

Nevertheless,  Professor  Knowlton's  great  lumber 
ing  load  of  theory  isn't  without  a  use.  He's  not  a 
failure.  What  he  doesn't  know  how  to  use,  he  gen 
erously  gives  to  others,  and  many  a  holder  of  a 
throttle  saves  oil  and  fuel  because  of  what  the  Pro 
fessor  has  told  him. 

The  real  man,  all-man,  super-man  of  the  crowd, 
however,  is  Donald  Bennett, — thin  of  scholastic  edu 
cation,  but  thick  with  sense.  He  isn't  a  professor 
of  anything  and  not  a  degree  tags  his  name.  He 
never  received  a  wireless  from  the  world  of  applied 
or  unapplied  science.  He  doesn't  even  know  that 
Latin  is  the  vernacular  of  Boston  boarding-house 
keepers,  and  he  hasn't  discovered  why  the  classic 
management  of  the  Boston  Elevated  road  requires 
its  conductors  to  belch  forth  the  call  that  "  Pas 
sengers  must  leave  by  the  nearer"  and  not  by  the 
nearest,  "  door." 

Don  has  heard  of  Tyndale,  Voltaire,  Galileo,  and 
others  of  their  strain,  but  can't  tell  you  what  nine 
they  pitched  for.  He  never  inhabited  a  university 
of  misapplied  football.  He  can't  distinguished  a 
frater  from  a  flatter.  He  knows  that  Milton  wrote 
rhymes,  but  isn't  sure  whether  Browning  was  a 
poet  or  a  polluter  of  English.  He  is  the  only  Bos- 
tonian  extant  who  hasn't  a  desire  to  straddle  the 
fourth  dimension. 

Don  is  a  plain,  simple  business  man,  a  worker 


83  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

not  a  shirker,  a  member  of  that  grand  army  of  labor 
ers  in  the  ever-growing  field  of  industry,  a  constant 
and  persistent  harvester  of  the  seeds  of  science,  who 
plants  them,  waters  them,  grows  them,  and  sells 
them,  without  a  thought  of  their  origin. 

Yet  Don  is  a  man  of  education,  of  practical  learn 
ing.  The  little  he  knows  of  books,  he  knows  how  to 
use.  He  is  a  brilliant  conversationalist,  witty,  and 
has  the  keenest  sense  of  humor.  But  his  pre-eminent 
characteristic  is  his  abundance  of  solid,  pressed- 
down  common  sense,  the  kind  that  is  never  out  of 
work. 

I'm  number  six, — the  poor,  deluded  chap  on  the 
job  of  recording  the  sayings  and  doings  of  this 
bunch  of  good  fellows,  each  in  his  own  boat,  but  all 
sailing  on  the  same  sea;  each  guiding  his  own  craft, 
but  never  failing  to  get  together  at  night,  to  tie  up 
at  a  common  anchorage,  and  there  exchange  calls 
and  rations,  while  the  gentle  water  rocks  them  in 
its  cradle  of  fraternal  restfulness. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WE  were  seated  at  the  Round  Table  at  our 
common  club.  I  was  the  unelected  chairman 
of  the  group.  I  carried  an  axe  instead  of  a  mace. 

"  Boys,"  I  said,  "  let's  pool  our  available  funds, 
take  a  grip  apiece,  get  together,  and  together  do 
time  at  simple  summering.  We'll  have  no  program. 
We'll  start  for  nowhere,  and  when  wet  get  there,  we'.U 
go  somewhere  else." 

"  Those  in  favor  of  Bennett  for  treasurer  will  say 
'Aye,'  "  said  Don. 

"  No !  "  yelled  the  crowd. 

"  The  Ayes  have  it,"  declared  Don,  in  that  per 
emptory  tone  of  voice  which  welcomes  no  opposition. 

"I  move,  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  the  Professor, 
"that  the  rest  of  us  act  as  managers-in-chief." 

"  Those  opposed  say  *  Yes,'  "  I  called,  with  the 
dignity  of  a  presiding  officer. 

"  No !  "  was  the  unanimous  vote. 

"  Carried,"  I  announced. 

"  I  move  that  Walt  dictate  a  program,"  said  Don. 

Walt  never  wrote,  he  dictated.  He  furnished  the 
nouns,  and  his  nerve-strained  stenographer  filled  in 
the  other  parts  of  speech. 

"  Not  much!  "  ejaculated  Tom.    "  We're  to  go  as 
33 


34  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

we  please.  No  plan,  no  expectations,  no  disappoint 
ments, — just  start  and  go." 

"That's  all  right,"  Don  interrupted,  "after 
we're  under  way.  But  if  we  start  for  nowhere  and 
get  there,  we'll  still  be  at  nowhere.  I  agree  to  a  go- 
as-you-please  itinerary,  but  whether  you  will  or  not, 
somebody  must  pick  out  a  place  to  begin  to  get  at." 

"Well,  let's  go  somewhere,"  conceded  Tom. 

"What  railroad  is  it  on?"  queried  Arch  seri 
ously. 

"  How  do  you  get  there?  "  asked  Walt. 

"  Is  there  anything  to  eat  there  ?  "  interrupted 
Don. 

"Always  thinking  of  your  stomach!"  interjected 
Tom.  "Why  can't  you  locate  your  senses  above 
your  belt  once  in  a  while?" 

"And  be  different  from  the  rest  of  you?"  asked 
Don  quietly. 

"  Say,  boys,"  broke  in  Tom,  "  I'll  tell  you  how  to 
fix  it.  Send  the  waiter  for  the  railroad  guide,  and 
we'll  cut  for  it." 

"  Great !  "  exclaimed  Walt. 

"  Nonsense !  "  ej  aculated  Arch.  "  There's  no 
psychology  to  hit  or  miss.  What  we're  about  to  do 
is  a  serious  matter,  and  all  matter  must  be  weighed 
and  analyzed,  that  we  may  know  how  to  take  it  and 
use  it,  and  safeguard  ourselves  against  telescoping 
with  it." 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  35 

"Pshaw!"  said  Walt.  "We  don't  want  reason. 
If  we  had  it,  we  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  it. 
I'm  sick  of  plans  and  premeditation.  I  don't  pro 
pose  to  abide  by  schedules  or  time  tables." 

"You'll  get  left,"  interjected  Don. 

" 'Spose  we  do?"  replied  Walt.  "As  we  haven't 
anything  to  do,  we  can  have  lots  of  fun  doing 
nothing,  and  the  most  restful  place  in  all  the  world 
is  the  depot  waiting-room.  Your  idea  of  cutting 
for  it,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Tom,  "  hits  me, 
for  then  we  can  feel  that  we  are  led,  not  leading, 
and  the  led  doesn't  need  to  have  any  mind,  sense, 
reason,  discrimination,  or  discretion." 

"  Walt,"  remarked  Arch,  with  apparent  sincerity, 
"  you  have  less  sense  than  a  heartless  eel.  If  you 
had  a  cold  in  your  head,  I'd  prescribe  a  vacuum 
cleaner  for  its  cure." 

"  After  you,  Arch,"  retorted  Walt.  "  The  cleaner 
wouldn't  have  to  work  overtime  attending  to  your 
needs." 

Arch  didn't  reply.  As  there  is  no  psychology  to 
a  vacuum  cleaner,  it  was  beyond  him,  and  he  had 
nothing  to  say. 

The  waiter  brought  in  one  of  those  stuck-to- 
gether  sheets  of  unguaranteed  departures  and  ar 
rivals,  which  are  as  mysterious  to  the  fellow  who 
threw  them  together  as  to  the  unfortunate  chap  who 
fools  himself  in  believing  that  they  were  intended  to 


36  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

aid  one  in  ascertaining  when  to  start,  how  to  get 
there,  and  at  what  approximate  time  he  is  likely  to 
arrive  at  his  destination. 

Tom  ran  a  table  knife  into  it. 

"We'll  take  the  left-hand  page,"  he  said.  He 
opened  the  book. 

"  Promiston  wins,"  he  announced.  "  The  boat 
leaves  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  The  knife  of  fate  had 
carved  out  our  destination. 


CHAPTER  X 

met  at  the  wharf  some  minutes  ahead  of 
time, — all  except  Arch.  He  reached  it  just  as 
the  gang-plank  had  been  pulled  in,  made  a  leap, 
struck  the  deck  hands  down,  picked  himself  up, 
glared  at  the  grinning  passengers,  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  turned  with  scorn  upon  the  purser,  ex 
claiming,  "  You  started  ahead  of  schedule,  sir !  " 

"You're  mistaken,  my  friend,"  replied  the  gilt- 
bespangled  official  politely.  "  We  pulled  out  five 
minutes  late." 

"  I  do  not  retract,"  snarled  Arch.  "  Look  at  my 
watch,  sir.  It  lacks  five  minutes  of  nine  o'clock.  I 
had  five  minutes'  leeway.  What  have  you  to  say 
about  that,  sir  ?  " 

The  officer  glanced  at  Arch's  watch.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,"  he  said  softly,  but  decidedly,  "but 
may  I  not  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  your 
watch  went  to  sleep  last  evening,  sir?  It  has 
stopped,  sir." 

Arch  was  face  to  face  with  the  time  and  truth. 

"  I  apologize,"  he  stammered,  as  he  offered  his 
hand  to  the  purser. 

*'  That's  all  right,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  that  of- 
37 


38  THE    KNOCKERS*   CLUB 

ficial.  "  I'm  used  to  it.  You're  the  twelfth  man  to 
day  with  a  run-down  timepiece." 

Arch  detached  himself  from  us  for  a  while.  He 
went  below,  leased  a  stateroom,  took  off  his  coat, 
stretched  out  upon  the  lower  berth,  placed  a  stetho 
scope  on  his  shell-like  skull,  and  for  an  hour  at 
tempted  to  locate  the  particular  brain  throb  that 
was  responsible  for  forgetfulness,  not  general  ab 
sent-mindedness,  but  that  special  brand  of  brain 
paralysis  that  manifests  itself  by  producing  that 
preoccupation  of  cerebral  activity  which  prevents 
the  fifteenth  nerve  from  carrying  the  watch-winding 
impulse  from  the  time-controlling  cell  to  the  hand 
which  makes  time  move  by  keeping  a  timepiece  go 
ing. 

Having  discovered  it,  Arch  tied  a  string  around 
it,  lighted  a  pipe,  which  was  stronger  than  the 
bravest  tobacco,  and  joined  his  fellows. 

Don,  with  his  power  of  corralling  opportunity  and 
making  it  offer  him  a  seat,  had  buttonholed  the 
captain.  He  gave  him  an  appreciative  salute.  He 
uttered  a  few  words,  so  carefully  guarded  that  the 
blue-coated  official  didn't  discover  that  Don's  knowl 
edge  of  things  marine  was  limited  to  ferry  voyages, 
and  really  felt  that  he  may  have  been  a  retired  co- 
plower  of  excursion  water.  A  real  salter  has  an  ex 
aggerated  respect  for  the  fellow  who  has  sense 
enough  to  turn  from  salt  water  to  watered  stocks, 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  39 

and  any  ex-sailor,  who  has  hit  the  land  sucessfully, 
is  a  hero  in  the  eyes  of  the  seafaring  chaps,  who 
would  rather,  many  times  over,  brave  the  fighting 
elements  offshore  than  take  their  chances  with  an 
inland  breeze. 

In  five  minutes  he  and  Don  were  chums.  Don  in 
troduced  us.  The  captain  invited  us  into  his  cabin, 
which  looked  like  the  reception  room  of  one  of  these 
suburban  flats,  so  constructed  that  one  couldn't 
squeeze  into  it,  nor  get  out  of  it,  unless  he  was 
girdled  with  shoe  horns  smirched  with  vaseline. 
Sardinelike  we  stored  ourselves  within. 

The  captain  appeared  to  be  one  of  the  brightest 
ornaments  in  that  great  galaxy  of  water-polished 
stars,  which  would  have  shone  on  land,  if  somebody 
had,  at  their  formative  age,  placed  them  in  a  solid 
setting.  He  wasn't  a  product  of  a  marine  school 
upon  paper.  He  had  learned  to  steer  by  steering, 
not  by  pricking  out  a  course  for  a  paper  ship  upon 
a  paper  chart.  He  was  before  the  mast  before  he 
stood  aft  of  it.  He  had  kept  many  a  wind-jammer 
afloat  before  he  was  introduced  to  a  craft  big  enough 
to  have  a  pilot  house.  He  had  sailed  before  and 
after  the  wind  and  storm.  He  knew  the  eccentrici 
ties  of  water  and  wave,  and  had  won  many  a  battle 
against  the  elements  when  they  were  lashing  the 
vessel  he  commanded. 

A  manly  man  was  this  captain,  unless  appearances 


40  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

were  contradictory,  a  representative  of  that  kind  of 
courage  and  heroic  hardiness  which  sometimes  may 
be  permitted  to  compete  successfully  with  the  money- 
making  land  lubbers  who  walk  dry-shod  upon 
financial  shores. 

Here  was  a  man  trained  to  conquer  Nature  in  all 
her  moods,  a  commander  of  a  little  sailing  world, 
floating  'twixt  sea  and  sky;  and  yet  his  financial 
competence  was  exceeded  by  the  pay  drawn  by  a  mil 
lion  players  upon  the  roulette  of  business.  Why? 
Because  convention's  inspector  of  weights  and  meas 
ures  isn't  onto  his  job. 

But  enough  of  this  sort  of  thing.  The  publisher's 
editor  looms  large  over  my  horizon,  and  I  see  his 
financial  finger  pointing  to  the  literary  policy  that 
pays. 

Sometime  I'm  going  to  write  a  book  to  please  the 
writer  of  it.  I'm  going  to  dip  my  pen  in  the  foun 
tain  of  my  own  brain,  and  let  it  trace  out  upon  paper 
what's  in  me,  without  a  single  reservation,  if — if  I 
ever  get  money  enough  together  to  be  my  own  pub- 
fisher's  editor  and  publisher  in  one. 

"  Come  into  the  pilot  house,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
Captain.  "  We're  in  sight  of  the  monument,  and 
you'll  get  a  good  off-shore  view  of  it  as  we  near  the 
land." 

We  followed  him, — all  but  Arch.  During  the 
animated  conversation,  both  fresh  and  salt,  but 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  41 

mostly  brackish,  he  kept  within  the  cracked  shell  of 
himself,  quietly  reason-hunting  for  something  which 
probably  had  its  reason  sticking  out  all  over  it. 
When  he  entered  the  pilot  house,  I  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  straining  over  some  problem  or  other. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  for  I  knew  that  Arch 
loved  the  man  who  asked. 

"  Joe,"  he  said,  "  I  am  much  perplexed.  As  a 
scientist  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  pass  through 
the  door  leading  from  the  Captain's  cabin  to  the 
pilot  house  until  I  had  obtained  an  inside  view 
into  the  composition  of  the  ship  carpenter's  mind, 
which  suggested  that  he  hang  that  door  so  that 
it  would  swing  cabinward  instead  of  the  other 
way." 

"  Did  you  find  it?  "  inquired  Walt,  while  the  Cap 
tain  looked  at  Arch  and  said  nothing,  though  the 
look  fairly  beamed  interrogation  points. 

"  He's  all  right,"  explained  Don.  "  Just  mentally 
twisted,  that's  all." 

"Isn't  that  enough?"  inquired  the  Captain  in 
nocently. 

"  You  don't  understand,  Captain,"  replied  Don, 
with  a  good  imitation  of  the  voice  he  used  when  he 
had  to  convince  an  ambitious  clerk  that  the  salary 
he  was  giving  him  corresponded  with  the  convenient 
depression  in  business.  "  Rollins  is  a  psychologist, 
Captain." 


42  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"  What's  that?  "  inquired  the  Captain,  with  re 
newed  interest. 

"  A  psychologist,  my  dear  Captain,"  resumed  Don, 
"  is  a — a — a — well,  he's  something  new.  They 
got  the  germ  of  him  at  the  Carvard  laboratories 
a  few  years  ago,  and  introduced  it  into  the 
public  schools;  and,  well,  that's  what  he  is — a 
psychologist." 

"  Is  he  dangerous  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 

"Oh,  dear,  no!"  Don  assured  him.  "He's  safe, 
if  he  isn't  sane.  He  has  his  lucid  moments,  particu 
larly  when  he's  eating.  No  psychology  about  his 
appetite.  I  fed  him  once  a  la  carte.  But  only  once. 
It's  cheaper  to  table  d'hote  him." 

The  Captain  smiled,  and  maybe  he  understood; 
for  no  popular  and  successful  commander  of  an  ex 
cursion  steamer  refuses  to  give  a  reciprocating  grin 
when  something  which  the  sayer  thinks  is  bright  is 
thrown  at  him. 

"  Boys,"  said  Tom,  with  a  visible  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  Arch  may  be  on  the  brink  of  a  discovery  which 
will  regulate  the  swinging  doors  of  posterity.  At 
last,  he's  got  down  to  wood.  I,  for  one,  request  that 
he  give  us  a  resume  of  his  conclusions.  Why  did  the 
hanger  of  that  door  give  the  cabin  the  preference  by 
swinging  it  that  way,  when  to  all  intents  and  pur 
poses,  if  viewed  from  a  broad,  unprejudiced  stand 
point,  there  would  appear  to  be  no  adequate  reason 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  43 

why  it  shouldn't  have  opened  into  the  pilot  house, 
instead  of  taking  up  room  in  the  cabin. 

"  In  the  answer  to  this  awful  problem  may  lurk  the 
solution  of  all  that  goes  into  a  door  and  surrounds 
a  door,  may  cover  not  only  the  casing,  but  the  whole 
room  it  swings  into  and  the  abutting  room  it 
neglects,  and  from  these  rooms  spread  itself  over 
the  house,  and  from  the  house  run  about  outdoors, 
and  tackle  the  neighbors'  houses,  and  their  yards, 
and  even  get  into  the  street,  and  run  amuck,  and 
then  on  and  on  and  anon.  Here's  an  opportunity  to 
check  its  ravages,  to  prevent  the  dire  disaster.  The 
time  has  come  when  we  must  pretect  ourselves 
against  the  raging  door  and  its  anarchistic  swing. 
Give  us  your  conclusions,  Arch.  You  may  have  ar 
rived  at  something.  Out  with  it." 

"  Go  ahead,"  interposed  Walt.  *'  Maybe  you've 
butted  against  something  worth  while.  Your  rea 
soning  may  have  got  alongside  of  the  original  rea 
son.  Let  'er  go." 

Arch  unhinged  himself.  He  ran  fact  backward 
until  he  swept  into  its  very  source.  He  swam  into  a 
scientific  analysis  of  the  subservient  forces  that 
spend  themselves  in  door-swinging.  He  wiped  the 
grit  off  the  hinges,  collated  the  influences  which  ac 
celerate  and  retard  the  atmospheric  pressures, 
spread  them  out  before  us,  and  was  about  to  match 
them  into  result,  when  the  captain  broke  in: 


44  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"  Say,  you  chump  of  a  psychologist,  don't  you 
know  that  that  door  swings  both  ways?" 

But  Arch  kept  on.  A  pile-driver,  working  hori 
zontally,  hadn't  force  enough  to  knock  him  down 
when  he  is  braced  and  stimulated  with  the  spirit  of 
psychology. 

We  left  him,  glued  to  that  door,  mumbling  to 
himself,  and  heard  him  mutter,  "I  will  locate  the 
reason  why  it  swing  more  readily  one  way  than  it 
does  the  other,  if  I  spend  the  rest  of  my  life  on  ship 
board!" 

With  the  whole  town  on  the  dock  to  meet  us,  we 
tied  up  to  it,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  in  the 
vortex  of  a  swarm  of  hotel  runners,  each  represent 
ing  the  only  hostelry  where  real  food  was  served 
in  sufficient  quantities  to  combat  an  acquired  ap 
petite. 

"  Dine  at  the  Relay  House !  "  bellowed  a  white- 
capped  runner.  "  Get  more  than  you  can  eat  for 
fifty  cents !  " 

"  Let's  go  there,"  said  the  Professor. 

"Why  have  more  than  you  can  eat?"  queried 
Arch  seriously. 

"  Free  'bus  to  Hotel  Fish !  "  yelled  a  coatless  in 
dividual,  shod  in  both  black  and  tan.  "A  dollar 
dinner  for  thirty-five  cents !  " 

A  man  next  to  him  shouted  through  a  megaphone, 
"  Clams,  clams,  clams,  at  the  New  York  Restaurant ! 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  45 

— Steamed  clams,  fried  clams,  clam  chowder.  All 
for  forty  cents !  " 

"  Pies  that  mother  can't  make  at  the  Hotel  De 
Liver ! "  burst  from  out  the  never-meeting  lips  of  a 
tall,  gaunt,  lank,  bean-pole  sort  of  man.  "  Turn  to 
the  left!  Forty-fifth  door!  Look  for  the  greed 
sign.  A  full  stomach  for  seventy-five  cents !  " 

We  paused.  With  all  of  them  the  best,  who  should 
decide? 

There's  a  legend  about  town,  that  many  years  ago 
a  man  starved  to  death  on  the  wharf,  because  he 
couldn't  make  up  his  mind  which  of  the  only  dining 
places  to  go  to. 

"Let's  toss  for  it,"  suggested  Walt,  and  he  did. 
The  green  one  won. 

We  turned  to  the  left  and  entered  a  typical  Cape 
Cod  feedery,  with  living  room  in  front,  kitchen  at 
the  back,  and  dining  room  wedged  in  between.  The 
typewritten  bill  of  fare  didn't  belie  what  it  stood  for. 

Clams  were  ripe  at  the  Green  House.  There  was 
clam  chowder  made  of  clams,  and  real  potatoes  in 
it,  more  than  a  suggestion  of  an  onion,  and  a  chunk 
of  salt  pork  for  flavoring,  with  every  plate.  Then 
came  the  clams  in  their  original  shells, — not  the 
clams  you  see  at  some  places,  where  the  clammer 
gets  them  in  can,  and  sets  them  into  a  set  of  shells, 
which  he  uses  over  and  over  again. 

And  there  was  beef,  cooked  both  in  frying-pan 


46  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

and  oven,  and  mutton,  and  two  or  three  salads,  four 
kinds  of  pie,  one  kind  of  pudding,  ice  cream  and 
coffee. 

Perhaps  the  landlord  procures  his  food  for 
nothing,  and  forgets  to  pay  his  help.  He  either 
does,  or  else  his  Knocker  guests  are  not  in  the  ma 
jority.  We  ate,  and  ate  again,  and  re-ate.  When 
the  waiter  asked  us  what  we  would  have,  Don,  with 
out  a  smile  on  his  face,  or  the  twitch  of  an  eyebrow, 
handed  one  of  the  bills  of  fare  to  her,  and  calmly 
remarked,  "Bring  us  that,  and  repeat." — And  she 
did. 


D 


CHAPTER  XI 

ID  you  ever  visit  Promiston  ?  If  not,  do.  The 
very  air  is  salty,  and  the  unbridled  breezes 
sweep  across  the  town  in  a  continuous  flow  of  cool 
ness,  so  dissipating  the  heat  that  it  gets  no  chance 
to  hit  you,  save  in  spots. 

Promiston  is  the  beckoning  finger-tip  of  Cape 
Cod's  cordiality.  Along  its  half-circle  of  shore 
stand  the  dwelling  places  of  more  than  four  thou 
sand  regulars,  and  rooms  to  let  for  as-  many  more. 
Its  two  long  and  parallel  streets  are  irregularly 
crossed  by  lanes  and  footpaths,  unlined  with  side 
walks,  but  abutted  with  front  and  back  yards,  or 
more  frequently  by  no  yards  at  all. 

Harbor  Street,  the  main  artery  of  the  town,  runs 
from  east  to  west  for  two  miles  in  fact,  but  for  fifty 
per  cent,  more  if  you  believe  the  horsed-vehicle  and 
the  springless  auto-truck  drivers,  who  carry  you 
from  where  you  get  on  to  where  you  get  off  for  a 
nickel,  and  give  you  the  circuit  ride  for  a  dime. 

To  the  sky  eye,  Promiston  looks  like  irregular 
billows  of  sand  swept  by  the  erratic  wind,  here  and 
there  kalsomined  with  patches  of  struggling  grass 
and  Lilliputian  trees.  In  its  beginning  some  unsys- 

47 


48  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

tematic  builder  had  apparently  shaken  up  a  colan- 
derful  of  houses,  and  sifted  them  upon  the  sand. 

In  the  center  of  the  village,  on  its  only  real  hill,  a 
tall  monument  looks  staringly  down  upon  you,  with 
a  scowl  of  solid  granite.  Long,  lank,  and  underfed 
piers  stick  out  from  the  land  into  the  harbor,  and 
fishing  smacks,  and  samples  of  all  the  craft  that 
float,  rest  upon  the  bosom  of  the  tranquil  water. 

(For  key  to  the  foregoing  description,  see 
"  Ready-Made  Scenes  and  How  to  Write  About 
Them,"  written  by  one  who  worked  in  a  gazetteer 
factory,  made  up  indexes,  lengthened  out  popula 
tions,  and  cast  descriptive  words  into  interchange 
able  lines.) 

That  evening  we  got  together  upon  the  back 
piazza,  overlooking  the  vessel-dotted  harbor,  to  see 
the  evening  fall,  and  to  watch  the  lights  on  sea  and 
shore.  The  scene, — the  very  softness  of  the  twilight, 
— made  the  world  seem  like  the  major  half  of  a 
cyclorama  painted  by  the  Master,  Nature,  defying 
the  brush  of  artist, — save  the  crayons  of  the  mobs 
of  girls  in  kimonas,  and  men  in  kakhi,  who,  under 
the  baiting  of  a  money-making  leader,  easelized  the 
quaint  nooks  and  corners  of  the  town,  and,  with  the 
presumption  of  ignorance,  caricatured  the  splendors 
of  the  sea,  and  its  bordering  sand,  upon  placques 
and  friezes,  condensing  the  limitless  ocean  and  its 
shores  into  foot  squares  of  spattered  paint. 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  49 

We  had  hardly  begun  our  usual  evening  dispute 
when  there  shambled  upon  us  one  of  those  genuine 
net-casters  of  the  fishing  banks,  dressed  in  the  com 
fortable  and  loose-fitting  trousers  which  are  never 
seen  hanging  upon  the  frames  of  the  fish-catchers  of 
canvas  or  story.  There  was  not  a  pinch  of  salt 
connected  with  him,  so  far  as  appearance  indicated. 
He  looked  like  anybody,  and  might  have  been  taken 
for  an  ex-teamster,  or  a  digger  of  the  soil,  for,  in 
fact,  there  was  more  earth  than  water  attached  to 
his  person. 

"  Howdy,"  he  drawled. 

"  Good  evening,  Captain,"  said  Don  politely, 
"won't  you  join  us?" 

Here  again  Don  displayed  his  diplomacy,  his 
natural  and  acquired  ability  to  strike  twelve  every 
time  he  spoke.  There  wasn't  an  eighth  of  a  chance 
in  eight  million  that  the  man  had  ever  been  a  cap 
tain,  or  had  occupied  any  position  beyond  that  of 
untangling  nets,  casting  them,  and  pulling  them  in. 
But  nobody  objects  to  a  title  which  doesn't  belong 
to  him,  if  it  is  above  him,  and  if  there  is  even  the 
slightest  suspicion  that  the  fellow  who  hands  it  to 
him  may  have  thought  it  appropriate. 

"I  hain't  got  no  'jection,"  the  fisherman  replied. 
"Be  yer  calkerlatin'  to  anchor  here  fer  long?" 

"  Can't  say,"  replied  Don,  "  but  we'll  be  here  for 
a  spell  anyway." 


50  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"Come  up  from  Boston-way?"  interrogated  the 
sailor. 

"  Yes." 

"Thought  so.  I  can  ginerally  tell  a  Boston  crab 
by  the  look  o'  him." 

"  There ! "  interjected  Arch,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  so ! 
Here  is  a  man,  a  stranger  to  all  of  us,  and  yet  he 
has  the  intuition  to  locate  our  home  environment  at 
a  glance.  I  have  always  contended  that  dwellers  of 
any  distinct  locality  reflect  an  effluence  which  the 
discerning  eye  of  even  those  entirely  removed  from 
any  familiarity  with  the  application  of  recondite 
reasoning  could  not  fail  to  recognize.  My  friend," 
he  said,  turning  to  the  fisherman,  "  by  what  process 
of  reasoning,  by  what  assembling  of  initial  impulses, 
did  you  discover  the  place  of  our  residence?  " 

"  Watcher  gettin'  at?  "  ruminated  the  native. 

"  I  simply  intended  to  ask  you,"  resumed  Arch, 
"  to  give  me  a  single  reason,  or  a  combination  of 
reasons,  one  or  many,  which  started  in  motion  the 
cerebral  impulses  which  enabled  you  to  locate  in 
stantaneously  our  abiding  place  in  contradistinc 
tion  to  placing  us  as  inhabitants  of  some  locality 
which  does  not  possess,  except  in  general,  the  lights 
and  shades  of  our  local  coloring,  and  the  peculiar 
and  somewhat  exclusive  characteristics  of  those  who 
have  been  fed  and  nourished  upon  the  nutriment, 
which,  although  it  resembles  the  common  food  of 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  51 

mankind,  is  distinctly  seasoned  with  that  special  and 
somewhat  exclusive  condiment  which  has  a  distinc- 
tiveness  essentially  its  own " 

"Beans!"  interjected  Walt,  with  journalistic  ir 
reverence. 

Arch  was  about  to  reply  forcibly  to  ^VValt,  when 
Don  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Cap'n,"  he  said,  "  what  Dr.  Rollins  wants  to 
know  is  why  in  thunder  you  took  us  for  Boston- 
ians." 

"  Oh,  that's  an  easy  one,"  returned  the  Captain. 
"I  doesn't  hit  it  wrong,  'cept  when  I'm  sleepy. 
Yer  see,  I  bumps  up  alongside  of  lots  of  peoples, 
and  gets  to  a  sort  o'  sortin'  'em,  same  as  we  picks 
out  fish.  Each  one  of  'em  is  different  from  the  rest 
of  'em.  Can't  tell  just  how  I  does  it,  but  I  knowed 
you  fellers  was  from  Boston  soon  as  I  sets  eyes  on 
yer.  'Cause  why?  Yer  talk  too  all-fired  like  'em 
Boston  school  marms  we  git  here  when  we  can't  do 
better.  Yer  look  as  though  yer  knowed  a  blamed 
sight  more  about  what's  knowed  than  what  it's  good 
fer." 

I  kicked  the  Professor,  and  he  reciprocated. 

"I  doesn't  go  to  mean  no  hard  feelings  to  yer," 
continued  the  Captain  apologetically,  "  'cause 
yer're  all  right,  such  as  yer  be.  But  any  feller 
that's  knocked  round  as  I  has  can't  steer  crooked 
when  he  sights  things  like  yer  be.  Why,  let  loose 


52  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

my  tow-line,  jer  talk  gives  yer  away.  It  hain't 
natural-like.  Yer  don't  say  what's  what,  as  though 
yer  knowed  what  yer  were  talkin'  'bout.  Yer  jist 
spill  out  a  lot  o'  stuff  that  hain't  no  good  fer  bait, 
nowhere.  Now,  I  hain't  goin'  to  say  yer  hain't  no 
good  in  yer  place,  'cause  most  likely  yer  be,  but  yer 
Boston  folks  sure  thing." 

"In  the  language  of  acute  frankness,  then,"  said 
Tom,  "  we  are  plain  damn  fools  net." 

"  Well,  seein'  yer  say  it,  I  hain't  agoin'  to  'spute 
yer,"  replied  the  Captain.  "But  doncher  care. 
Yer  hain't  goin'  ter  be  lonesome  a  bit.  There'll  be 
shoals  like  yer  here  all  summer.  Sometime  it  seems 
to  me,  it  do,  that  this  here  town  be  overrun  with 
what  yer  call  idecaters;  but  I  can't  seem  to  get 
used  to  yer  ways,  'cause  I  come  from  folks  that 
don't  go  to  put  on  the  lugs  yer  city  peoples  have 
got.  I  beg  yer  pardon,  gents,  fer  maybe  I  was  too 
outspoken-like.  But,  says  I,  what  am  the  good  of 
bein'  whatcher  hain't,  when  yer've  got  to  be  what- 
cher  be?  Then,  says  I,  if  yer  be  whatcher  be, 
yer've  got  to  speak  right  out  in  meetin'  what's  in 
side  of  yer." 

"  Captain ! "  exclaimed  Walt,  giving  him  a  hearty 
slap  on  the  back,  "you're  the  sort  of  fellow  I  like 
to  cuddle  to.  Always  lived  here?  " 

"  Yes,  ever  since  I  was  born,"  replied  the  Captain, 
"  'cept  when  I  was  afishin'." 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  53 

"Then  you  know  all  about  Promiston?  " 

"  Reckon  I  does." 

"  Can  you  locate  the  spot  where  the  Pilgrims 
landed?  " 

"Maybe  I  can,  an'  maybe  I  can't,"  replied  the 
Captain,  as  he  crammed  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of 
black  tobacco  into  a  pipe  large  enough  to  be  used 
for  a  drinking  cup. 

"  Yer  see  it  be  this  way.  Ole  Cap'n  Bill,  he  say 
they  pulled  up  on  his  land.  And  Deacon  John,  who 
got  a  hotel  half  a  mile  to  the  eastard,  he  say  they 
got  out  o'  their  boats  within  twenty  foot  of  his 
dining  room.  Now,  it  don't  seem  nateral  that  they 
could  'ave  made  two  fust  landings,  an'  if  they  did, 
it's  likely  they  got  out  pretty  nigh  to  the  same 
spot.  There's  Cap'n  Bill's  place  down  there,"  and 
he  pointed  to  a  yellow  shed  some  distance  away, 
with  "  Fish  For  Sale "  painted  upon  its  roof. 
"  And  there's  Deacon  John's  boarding-house  right 
up  there,  not  more'n  a  cable's  length  from  where 
we  air." 

"  But,  Cap'n,"  asked  Tom,  "  if,  as  you  say,  they 
couldn't  very  well  have  made  two  first  landings, 
which  of  the  places  do  you  think  they  landed  at?" 

"Well,"  drawled  the  Captain,  "I  kind  er  lean 
Cap'n  Bill's  way.  Yer  see,  he  hain't  more'n  half  as 
big  a  liar  as  Deacon  John  be,  and  the  Deacon,  con- 
sarn  'im,  tried  to  sell  me  a  horse  which  wasn't  no 


54  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

clipper,  you  bet,  and  heeled  like  hell  when  he  wasn't 
propped  up." 

"  Have  a  cigar,  Captain,"  said  I,  offering  him 
my  cigar  case. 

"  No,  thank  ye,"  the  Captain  replied,  "  not 
meanin'  I  don't  thank  ye  for  yer  kindness,  but 
somehow  I  never  could  get  any  real  smokin'  out  of 
the  tobac  they  put  into  them  cigars.  Don't  appear 
like  I  was  asmokin'." 

So  saying  the  Captain  ambled  off. 

"Let's  take  a  walk,"  suggested  Walt.  "The 
town's  a  quaint  old  place,  and  worth  seeing." 

We  started  in  columns  of  twos,  Walt  and  Tom  in 
the  van. 

But  what  of  it?  We  were  but  treading  the  much 
traveled  paths  which  by  accident  received  the  sore 
feet  of  those  who  made  history,  largely  uninten 
tionally,  and  mostly  because  they  happened  to  be 
on  the  firing  line  at  the  time  when  the  discipline  of 
gun  and  sword  commanded  sea  and  shore,  and  men 
fired  first  and  thought  about  it  afterward. 

Promiston  is  overstocked  with  historical  fact  and 
mysterious  legend.  If  the  rain  hadn't  soaked  the 
sand,  and  the  wind  hadn't  swept  it  into  irregular 
piles,  since  the  gun-carriers  passed  away,  we  could 
have  seen  the  countless  footpaths,  marking  the  by 
ways  of  historical  lore,  and  the  localities  of  the 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  55 

forgotten  exploits  of  the  men  we  reverence  because 
they  happened  to  be  on  earth  ahead  of  us. 

In  building  their  necessary  shacks  to  live  in,  they 
couldn't  avoid  creating  the  history  they  didn't  care 
whether  they  made  or  didn't.  Truly,  the  gore  of 
the  past  turns  to  glory  when  sifted  through  the 
filtering  ages. 


CHAPTER  XII 

^  *  T  ET'S  take  a  sail,"  suggested  Tom,  as  we  in- 
•1— ^  advertently  found  ourselves  upon  one  of  the 
mile-long  wharves,  upon  which,  half  a  century  ago, 
a  hundred  wives  welcomed  their  husbands  at  the 
home-coming  of  those  ships  and  barks  which  battled 
with  wind,  wave,  and  whale. 

Tied  up  to  one  of  the  piles  was  a  trim  little  motor 
boat,  named  "  To  Let."  But  no  skipper  was  in 
sight. 

"Where's  the  fellow  who  runs  it?"  inquired 
Walt,  of  seventeen  do-nothings,  who  sat  upon  as 
many  idle  barrels,  smoking  away  the  hours  they 
didn't  have  any  use  for. 

"  Guess  you'll  find  him  at  Baxter's  shop,"  re 
plied  one  of  the  loafers.  "  If  he  hain't  there,  he 
may  be,  likely  as  not,  standin'  up  agin  a  telegraph 
pole  in  front  of  the  fish  market;  and  if  you  don't 
catch  him  there,  shouldn't  wonder  if  you'd  find  him 
watchin*  them  street  fixers  somewhere  between 
Smith's  grocery  store  and  the  sail  loft  that  used  to 
be  where  it  was  before  it  burned  down.  And  if  you 
don't  run  afoul  of  him  at  any  of  them  places,  you're 
likely  to  hit  him  at  his  house,  which  is  half  way  be 
tween  the  white  church  and  t'other  church." 

56 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  57 

We  started  to  find  him,  when  Arch,  with  great 
presence  of  mind,  and  with  a  display  of  intelligence 
which  was  not  his  usual  wont,  asked,  "  What's  his 
name?  " 

"  Harker,"  drawled  the  loafer,  "  and  be  sure  you 
ask  for  Hank  Harker,"  he  added,  "  because  them 
Harkers  is  as  thick  as  sand  flies  round  here,  and 
not  one  of  'em  '11  tell  you  nothin'  about  t'others, 
'cause  them  Harkers  don't  hitch." 

"Arch,"  said  Tom,  grasping  his  hand  in  a  firm 
grip,  "  accept  my  sincere,  unfettered,  and  unlimited 
congratulations.  At  last,  and  for  the  first  time, 
you've  helped  out.  You,  of  all  of  us,  rose  magnifi 
cently  to  the  occasion,  and  of  your  own  volition, 
and  without  any  other  than  motor  suggestion,  asked 
a  pertinent  question,  which,  if  it  had  remained  unan 
swered,  would  have  kept  us  skipper-hunting  for  a 
week.  In  the  name  of  your  fellows,  I  thank  you." 

"  Say,  Arch,"  said  Don,  "  you're  getting  down 
to  bed-rock.  I  didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you. 
Shake,  old  boy," — and  we  all  solemnly  shook  hands 
with  him. 

At  last  we  found  Hank,  but  in  none  of  the  locali 
ties  so  minutely  described  by  our  informant.  He 
was  leisurely  leaning  against  a  post  in  front  of  an 
empty  freight  car,  patiently  waiting  for  a  truck, 
which  hadn't  started,  to  arrive  with  a  load  which 
was  to  be  shipped  by  rail. 


58  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"Captain  Hank  Harker?"  inquired  Don. 

We  always  allowed  Don  to  take  the  initiative,  for 
somehow  he  seemed  to  carry  a  stock  of  available 
discrimination  and  diplomacy,  and  was  less  likely 
than  the  rest  to  put  his  foot  into  it  when  he  opened 
his  mouth. 

"I'm  him,"  said  Hank.     "Whatcher  want?" 

"  Are  you  the  proprietor,  engineer,  and  navigator 
of  yonder  craft  of  gasoline?" 

"  I'm  the  fellow  that  runs  her,  if  that's  what  yer 
want.  Want  to  go  out?  " 

"  We  want  to  hire  her  for  a  few  hours.  What  are 
your  terms  ?  " 

"  Five  dollars  for  a  spell,"  said  Hank.  "  But  I 
can't  go  out  with  yer  to-day.  Doc  Hallock's  got 
a  load  of  furniture  going  to  Sandville,  and  I've  got 
to  see  the  stuff's  put  onto  this  here  car  so  it  won't 
break  up  agittin'  there." 

We  looked  our  disappointment. 

"  Boys,"  said  the  Professor,  "  let's  charter  the 
boat.  I'll  run  the  motor,  and  Joe'll  navigate  her." 

We  put  the  proposition  up  to  Hank,  but  he  didn't 
respond  with  alacrity.  He  took  a  long,  scrutinizing 
look  at  us,  twirled  his  fingers,  and  looked  again, 
and,  after  sizing  us  up  several  times,  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  Hain't  goin'  to  risk  her,"  he  snapped  decidedly. 
"  You'd  run  into  somethin'." 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  59 

"  Captain  Harker,"  said  Don,  with  that  quiet 
dignity  that  would  make  a  paying  teller  cash  his 
check  without  identification,  "we're  responsible 
men  of  Boston.  Mr.  Gregory  here"  (he  came  near 
to  saying  Tom)  "  is  one  of  our  most  substantial 
citizens,  and  would  have  been  elected  the  president 
of  four  banks  if  others  hadn't  received  the  votes. 
Mr.  Watson  is  the  leading  journalist  of  the  universe, 
a  writer  of  words  which  have  to  be  written  upon 
asbestos  paper.  Mr.  Conrad  here"  (I'm  he)  "is 
a  licensed  pilot."  (And  I  was,  for  years  ago  I  had 
to  take  out  a  license  if  I  would  run  my  twenty-foot 
dory  with  an  engine  in  her,  and  for  the  fun  of  it 
I  had  renewed  the  license  every  year,  for  it  gave  me 
opportunity  to  impress  the  sea-faring  ability  I 
didn't  own  upon  those  who  knew  more  about  the 
sea  than  I  did,  but  didn't  know  that  I  didn't  know 
as  much  about  it  as  they  did.) 

"  Professor  Knowlton,"  Don  continued,  "  is  the 
head-in-chief  of  the  engineering  department  of  our 
largest  institute  of  applied  mechanics,  the  inventor 
of  the  famous  Knowlton  carburetor,  which  returns 
to  the  tank  ten  per  cent,  more  gasoline  than  it  takes 
out.  And  that  squint-eyed,  long-distance  gazer  is 
the  occupant  of  the  Chair  of  Vacancy,  at  the  Col 
lege  of  Premature  Psychology." 

Hank  stared  at  us.  Giving  his  trousers  a  double 
hitch,  and  pulling  himself  and  them  together  in  one 


60  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

mighty  struggle,  he  exclaimed,  "  Well,  if  yer  be  all 
that,  reckon  I  won't  be  runnin'  no  big  risks  to  let 
yer  have  her.  Go  ahead." 

We  started  for  the  wharf. 

"  Hold  on !  "  yelled  Hank.  "  I  hain't  agin'  to  be 
scared,  but  if  yer've  got  the  coin  about  yer,  would 
yer  mind  handing  me  a  couple  of  dollars,  'cause  I 
could  use  'em,  maybe,  afore  yer  get  back." 

Don  gave  him  two  bright,  new,  silver  dollars. 

We  boarded  the  "  Sarah  S,"  for  that  was  the 
name  of  the  craft.  I  took  my  place  in  the  bow,  as 
commander  of  the  expedition. 

"  Cast  her  off ! "  I  called,  with  the  dignity  of  a 
past  master.  Nobody  stirred. 

"  Let  go  that  line ! "  I  yelled  to  Tom. 

"  Not  much !  "  he  returned  lazily.  "  I'm  a  pas 
senger." 

I  threw  a  wet  sponge  at  him,  so  big  that  it 
couldn't  miss  its  mark.  While  he  was  wiping  the 
mud  and  water  off  his  neck,  I  turned  to  Walt. 

"  Can't  do  it,"  replied  Walt,  pleasantly,  «  for  I'm 
Tom's  guest,  and  guests  don't  work." 

I  made  a  remark. 

"  Get  a  move  on,  Don !"  I  shouted. 

"  Sorry,"  he  replied,  "  but  the  manager  cannot 
consistently  assist  in  the  navigation.  His  province 
is  confined  to  the  manipulation  of  the  finances." 

I  made  another  remark. 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  61 

"Arch,"  I  said  humbly,  in  desperation,  "may  I 
trouble  you  to  so  forget  yourself  as  to  let  go  that 
line  at  your  earliest  convenience?" 

Arch  started  for  the  line.  Instead  of  unfastening 
it  from  the  wharf  end,  so  that  we  could  take  it  with 
us,  he  drew  out  his  knife,  and  deliberately  cut  the 
rope  where  it  was  spliced  into  the  cleat.  I  didn't 
stop  to  express  my  opinion  of  his  stupidity. 
The  boat  was  clear.  That  was  enough  for  the 
present. 

I  turned  to  the  Professor.  Then  I  said  calmly, 
for  by  this  time  I  realized  that  my  crew  had  little 
respect  for  its  commander,  "  It  gives  me  great  pleas 
ure  to  inform  you  that  all  is  in  readiness  for  the 
start;  and  that  I  would  be  pleased  to  have  you  let 
her  go  at  your  earliest  convenience." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  replied  the  Professor ;  exhaust 
ing  his  marine  vocabularly  as  he  spoke.  "  Want  to 
go  ahead,  or  shall  I  back  her?  " 

"  Suit  yourself,"  I  replied. 

The  Professor  opened  all  the  valves  near  him, 
made  a  remark,  jerked  the  switch  at  "on,"  then 
gave  the  fly  wheel  a  twitch,  and  repeated  the  opera 
tion  several  times.  Fortunately  she  was  set  for  go 
ing  ahead. 

We  started  at  full  speed.  I  missed  a  couple  of 
sailing  craft  by  an  eighth  of  an  inch,  when  she 
stopped. 


62  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  I  yelled  at  the 
Professor. 

"  None  of  your  business !  "  he  snapped.  Who's 
running  this  machine,  you  or  I  ?  " 

"Neither,"  I  replied. 

The  Professor  grabbed  an  oil  can  with  one  of 
those  giraffe  necks  to  it,  aimed  it  at  me,  and  let 
me  have  a  gallon  more  or  less  of  the  lubricant 
right  on  the  starboard  cheek.  For  the  sake  of 
getting  it  started,  I  reserved  my  substantial  re 
sponse. 

The  Professor  sat  for  ten  minutes  (it  seemed  an 
hour)  staring  at  the  motor,  but  not  a  cock  nor  any 
thing  else  did  he  touch.  He  was  no  longer  with  us, 
but  away  off,  somewhere  far  distant,  in  the  realm  of 
thought  and  theory.  The  engine  had  stopped.  His 
scientific  mind  realized  only  too  well  that  nothing 
going  will  stop  moving  unless  there  is  a  more  power 
ful  force  favoring  the  discontinuance  of  its  motion 
than  the  propelling  energy  predisposed  to  its  con 
tinuance.  His  academically  trained  mind,  which 
had  over-worked  in  the  sweat-shops  of  mechanics, 
refused  to  allow  him  to  permit  the  boat  to  start, 
even  if  it  would  of  its  own  volition,  until  he  had 
scientifically  unraveled  the  mystery  of  the  stoppage. 
It  would  be  unscientific  and  unethical  to  make  a 
material  investigation,  or  to  do  anything  else  of  a 
practical  nature,  until  he  had  pricked  out  on  the 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  63 

chart  of  his  learning  that  chain  of  circumstances 
which  was  responsible  for  the  delay. 

Arch  was  studying  the  Professor's  face.  The 
stopping  of  the  motor  didn't  disturb  him,  for  the 
Professor's  perplexity  offered  an  opportune  oppor 
tunity  for  the  keenest  study  of  mental  moods  and 
reactions. 

"  Professor,"  remarked  Tom,  "  why  don't  you  give 
her  more  oil?  Maybe  she's  thirsty." 

Not  a  word  from  the  Professor. 

"Say,  Professor,"  interjected  Walt,  "perhaps 
she'd  go  if  you  turned  your  face  the  other  way." 

Still  the  Professor  remained  silent. 

"Think  you  quite  understand  your  job?"  asked 
Don,  innocently. 

The  Professor  leaped  out  of  lethargy.  He  arose 
to  his  feet.  "  Shut  up !  you  grinning  apologies  for 
men ! "  he  shouted.  "  Don't  know  how  to  run  a 
measly  little  machine  like  this ! — I,  who  have  in 
vented  a  dozen  appliances  which  have  revolutionized 
the  motor  world !  " 

"  Ever  had  anything  to  do  with  getting  up  a 
start?"  inquired  Tom  quietly. 

Tom  dodged  in  time. 

For  thirty  long  minutes  the  Professor  stared  at 
that  motor,  assisted  by  the  remarks  of  all  of  us, 
even  Arch  warming  up  at  him.  The  sun  burned  our 
faces  and  inflamed  our  dispositions.  Science  was 


64  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

all  right  when  there  wasn't  any  need  of  going  any 
where;  but  sitting  still  in  an  open  boat,  with  only 
our  hats  'twixt  us  and  the  sun,  was  not  conducive  to 
the  highest  state  of  contentment,  and  contributed 
nothing  to  bodily  comfort. 

Just  then  a  fisherman,  in  his  unpainted  dory,  was 
about  to  cross  our  wobbling  bow. 

Don  hailed  him.     "  Boat  ahoy ! "  he  shouted. 

"  Busted  ?  "  inquired  the  navigator,  fisherman, 
and  engineer  all  in  one. 

"Yes,"  yelled  Don.    "Come  aboard,  won't  you?  " 

The  fisherman  jerked  his  tiller  to  port,  kicked  off 
his  sparking  connection,  and  was  with  us  in  a  mo 
ment. 

"  What's  holding  yer?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Don't  know,"  answered  Tom,  "  but  somehow  the 
blamed  engine  seems  to  be  suffering  from  an  acute 
attack  of  indisposition." 

The  doryman  looked  at  Tom  and  took  in  the 
boat  at  the  same  time,  gave  the  fly  wheel  a  yank, 
looked  at  the  valves,  then  began  to  unscrew  the 
carburetor. 

"  Hell !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  saw  its  emptiness. 
"Do  yer  damn  fools  expect  to  keep  agoin*  without 
nary  a  drop  of  ile  in  her?  " 

"What's  that?"  interrupted  the  Professor.  "I 
assure  you  that  the  tank  is  two-thirds  full.  I  never 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  65 

allow  a  boat  to  leave  the  dock  until  I  am  sure  that 
the  tank  contains  a  sufficient  volume  of  gasoline." 

"  That  beats  me,"  replied  the  fisherman.  "  You 
city  folks  hain't  got  enough  sense  to  get  'round  on 
land,  much  less  water.  What  in  thunder's  the  use 
of  ile  in  the  tank  if  yer  don't  open  the  forward 
cock?"  and  he  reached  down  and  turned  a  little 
valve  close  to  the  tank. 

"  But  what  made  us  start  in  the  first  place  ? " 
asked  Arch.  "If,  as  you  say,  gasoline  is  primarily 
necessary  to  furnish  the  base  of  the  energy  which  is 
essential  to  propel  her,  and  that  agent  of  progress 
was  shut  off,  how  was  it  possible  for  the  professor 
to  start  her  at  all  ?  " 

"Jumping  dogfish!"  ejaculated  the  doryman, 
"  where  was  yer  brought  up  not  to  know  that  them 
carburetors  hold  enough  ile  to  run  her  for  a  minute 
or  two,  then  she  runs  dry.  See?" 

"  Not  yet,"  remarked  Arch. 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  Don.  "  What  we  want  is  gaso 
line, — not  any  other  kind  of  gas.  Let's  get  a  move 
on." 

The  Professor  connected  up  again  and  we  were 
on  our  way. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

*  *  T)  OYS,"  said  Walt,  after  we  were  a  mile  or 
•*-'  two  from  shore,  the  Professor  at  the  en 
gine,  I  at  the  wheel,  and  the  rest  balancing  the  boat, 
"  did  any  of  you  read  Morton's  speech  on  *  Selecting 
Vocations  for  Boys'?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  Tom,  "  and  he's  way  off,  so  far 
off  that  he  can't  get  back.  Morton's  a  bag  of  wind 
without  even  a  valve  to  shut  it  off.  He  proposes  to 
shove  youngsters  into  a  colander,  stir  them  up,  and 
let  them  run  through  a  lot  of  keyed  holes,  like  the 
magazine  chutes  in  the  linotype,  each  slotted  to  cor 
respond  with  a  specified  vocation.  It  can't  be  done." 

"  Why  not?  "  interposed  Arch.  '*  I  see  no  reason 
why  the  laboratory  should  not  produce  a  scientifi 
cally  constructed  separator,  which  would  skillfully 
differentiate,  if  the  several  appertures,  which  you 
designate  as  holes,  had  their  discharging  points 
slotted  with  the  result  of  careful  research." 

"  Rot !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  You  can't  make  an 
automatic  hopper  which  will  discriminate  or  sepa 
rate  mechanically  the  grades  or  kinds  of  intelli 
gences." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  questioned  Arch. 
66 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  67 

"  Arch,"  retorted  Tom,  and  there  was  a  suspicion 
of  pity  in  his  voice,  "  you  can't  handle  brains,  brains, 
I  said, — something  you  never  had  enough  of  to  make 
you  head  ache, — as  you  would  a  lot  of  pig  iron. 
Brains,  Arch,"  he  continued,  "  may  not  come  into 
your  psychology,  but  some  folks  have  'em,  and  when 
you  come  to  take  a  boy,  or  anybody  else,  and  un 
dertake  to  tell  him  that  his  unseen  and  unknown 
brain  is  good  for  this  particular  this  or  that  par 
ticular  that,  you're  attempting  to  do  the  impossible, 
the  utterly  impossible." 

"  Be  quiet,  Tom,"  said  Arch  deliberately.  "  You 
are  making  a  statement  offhand  that  you  cannot 
substantiate.  Scientists  do  not  admit  the  existence 
of  what  you  call  the  impossible.  In  my  laboratory 
I  have,  from  deduction,  reached  results  which  would 
startle  you.  Practically  everything,  even  the 
fundamental  and  basic  source  of  every  impulse,  can 
be  analyzed  and  measured  with  a  degree  of  nicety 
which  forestalls  the  liability  of  more  than  in 
finitesimal  error." 

"You'd  have  a  tough  time  trying  to  measure 
yours,"  retorted  Tom. 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  exclaimed  Arch.  "  Don't 
be  flippant!" 

"  Then  stow  your  idiocy ! "  snapped  Tom. 

But  Arch  continued :  "  Many  of  the  so-called 
mysteries  of  life  yield  easily  to  applied  psychology. 


68  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

They  become  but  a  part  of  a  hard-to-not-understand 
whole.  The  very  speed  of  thought,  many  times 
more  rapid  than  that  of  the  lightning  flash,  can  be 
recorded  with  absolute  accuracy." 

"  What  are  you  getting  at?  "  queried  Tom. 

"  At  you,  principally,"  replied  Arch.  "  By  the 
way," — seeing  that  Tom  was  about  to  re-explode, — 
"we  all  are  governed  by  immutable  laws,  which, 
while  they  may  not  remove  what  you  laymen  call 
the  free  agency  of  man,  were  present  at  the  forma 
tion  of  our  intelligence,  or  rather  at  the  time  of 
our  realization  of  it.  They,  as  well  as  we,  are  re 
sponsible  for  the  innate  and  inner  impulses,  which, 
working  co-ordinately,  give  to  each  one  of  us  certain 
somewhat  exclusive,  though  apparently  common, 
characteristic  tendencies  and  personalities,  and 
they,  in  the  very  nature  of  their  inherent  qualities, 
cannot  avoid  unmistakably  determining  what 
peculiar  environment  we  would  most  readily  respond 
to,  or, — to  put  it  so  that  an  ignoramus  like  you  can 
get  up  to  it, — each  of  us  has  in  him  a  series  of  dis 
tinct  impulses,  which  react  for  him  alone,  though 
they  may  be  possessed  in  general  by  others,  and 
which  furnish  a  culture  upon  which  feed  and  de 
velop  those  unnamable  somethings  which  are  at 
least  coresponsible  for  that  which,  and  I  am  speak 
ing  unscientifically,  determines  the  measure  or 
volume  of  the  attributes,  which,  although  of  a  com- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  69 

mon  genesis,  manifest  themselves  in  a  sort  of  ex- 
clusiveness  of  personality,  which  makes  it  not  dif 
ficult  for  men  of  ordinary  caliber  to  distinguish  ones 
individual  from  another.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"  'Do  I  follow  you?  '  "  repeated  Tom.  "Some 
day  I  will,  and  you'll  stay  where  I  put  you.  Of  all 
the  book-crammed  dummies  that  ever  got  out  alive 
from  academic  asylums,  you  are  the  most  irresponsi 
ble,  the  wildest  specimen  of  hypodermically  injected 
learning  permitted  to  travel  without  a  keeper !  But 
go  on.  The  sooner  you  get  it  out  of  your  system, 
the  quicker  you'll  be  better." 

Arch  did  not  deign  to  answer,  but  continued: 

"Now  that  you  have  admitted  the  truth  of  what 
I  have  presented " 

"  But  I  haven't !  "  burst  in  Tom. 

"  Immaterial,"  interpolated  Arch,  and  proceeded : 
"With  the  data  scientifically  brought  within  the 
scope  of  our  understanding,  we  have  only  to  tabulate 
it,  and  there  you  are." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Tom  irrelevantly. 

"  Why,  you  are  in  a  position  to  frame  certain 
reliable  rules,  which  the  investigator  can  apply  to 
the  average  boy,  and  determine,  with  no  small  de 
gree  of  accuracy,  what  he  is  good  for,  and  what  he 
is  not  likely  to  be  a  success  at." 

"  Say,  Arch,"  replied  Tom,  "  your  logic  is  no 
better  than  a  porous  plaster,  which,  slapped  on 


70  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

one  man's  stomach  for  cramps,  may  cure  the  rheu 
matism  in  the  opposite  side  of  another  fellow." 

Just  then  the  keel  touched  bottom.  Tom,  too 
large  and  too  stiff  to  get  out  of  his  own  way,  pitched 
five  feet  in  advance  of  himself,  the  rest  on  top  of 
him,  and  the  discussion  ended  abruptly. 

We  hadn't  hit  hard,  and  the  sand  was  soft.  By 
shifting  Tom  and  Walt,  we  were  able  to  slide  into 
deep  water. 

"Bless  that  bar!  It  barred  Arch  out,"  I  re 
marked,  and  I  laughed. 

"What's  the  joke,  Joe?"  asked  Walt. 

"Didn't  you  see  it?  "  I  asked. 

"See  what?" 

"The  point, — the  pun  on  the  word  'bar.'  ' 

"  Joe,"  interrupted  Don,  "  you're  evidently  labor 
ing  under  a  delusion.  You  didn't  perpetrate  any 
joke,  nor  sling  a  pun.  The  discussion  we  were  hav 
ing  was  not  barred  out,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"Jumping  jimmies!"  I  exclaimed.  "Haven't 
you  fellows  any  sense  of  humor?" 

"Yes, — for  humor,"  said  Tom  pleasantly. 

"  Don't  you  see  we  hit  a  sand  bar.  When  we  hit 
the  bar,  the  bar  barred  the  progress  of  our  boat 
and  barred  the  subject  Arch  and  Tom  were  quar 
reling  about.  Now  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  See  what  ?  "  inquired  Arch. 

"  The  point,"  I  replied. 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  71 

"Was  there  a  point  to  the  sand  bar?"  asked  the 
Professor. 

"  You  idiots,"  I  yelled,  "  you  couldn't  see  a  point 
even  if  it  were  sticking  into  you !  " 

"  Hold !  "  exclaimed  Don.  "  Joe  may  have  a  real 
joke  up  his  sleeve.  Perhaps  he  didn't  properly 
present  it.  Give  him  a  chance." 

"  I  won't  say  another  word,"  I  snapped,  "  and 
the  next  time  I  frame  up  a  joke,  a  first-class,  origi 
nal  one,  like  that  I  have  just  sprung,  I'll  work  it 
off  on  the  mummies,  before  I'll  sling  it  at  such  a 
bunch  of  ninnies  as  you  are !  " 

"  Good  boy !  "  replied  Walt.  "  Do  it.  The  mum 
mies  will  recognize  it.  They  were  there  when  it 
was  born." 

I  subsided.  What's  the  use?  I  don't  propose  to 
sow  my  seed  on  a  desert  so  barren  that  the  wind 
that  blows  over  it  would  kill  the  crops  of  a 
western  valley  daily  irrigated  by  the  rivers  of  fer 
tilization. 

The  Professor  stuck  to  his  engine,  I  stood  by  the 
wheel,  the  others  rested  at  their  pipes,  as  we  glided 
over  the  slightly  rolling  water,  meeting  here  and 
there  a  yachting  party  of  summerers,  men  decked 
out  in  duck,  and  women  in  skirts  so  long  in  the  per 
pendicular  and  so  narrow  in  the  circumference  that 
they  would  drown  without  a  kick  if  the  boat  tipped 
over. 


72  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

I  am  going  to  put  a  hobble  skirt  on  Tom,  and 
watch  him  struggle  to  kick  in  it. 

A  pogy  steamer  rocked  us  in  her  wake,  and  every 
little  while  a  fisherman  crossed  our  bows  in  one  of 
those  dingy  power  dories,  which  are  not  afraid  of 
the  elements,  go  everywhere,  and  get  back,  in 
weather  which  would  frighten  the  gold-bespangled 
gentleman  who  plays  bridge  below,  while  his  under 
paid  pilots  pace  the  bridge  above. 

Our  engine  stopped  every  time  the  Professor  tink 
ered  with  it,  but  when  he  let  it  alone,  it  raced  along 
in  the  freedom  of  its  independence. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WE  returned  to  the  hotel  in  time  for  the  regu 
lar  boarders'  dinner,  which  is  served  an  hour 
in  advance  of  the  landing  of  the  excursionists,  who 
arrive  at  one  o'clock,  leave  at  two-thirty,  and  eat 
what  they  can  between.  They  are  rushers,  for  they 
must  go  up  the  monument,  and  down  to  the  beach, 
take  a  two-mile  ride,  and  dine,  all  in  an  hour  and 
a  half,  less  the  twenty  minutes  reserved  for  walking 
the  long  wharf  which  connects  the  town  with  the 
steamer. 

Our  landlord  was  the  only  individual  of  his  kind 
and  sort  in  the  whole  clan  of  hotel  keepers, — a  modest 
man,  who  looked  more  like  a  school  master  than  a 
roper-in  of  roomers  and  feeders.  He  ran  his  hotel 
way  ahead  of  what  he  charged  you,  and  nobody 
kicked  at  bed  or  board,  except  the  ever-present 
fault-finder,  who,  because  he  is  used  to  little  at  home, 
expects  much  when  away. 

The  hotel  was  located  but  a  short  distance  from 
where  the  wharf  connected  with  the  land,  the  front 
abutting  the  street,  and  the  rear  reaching  out  over 
the  water.  As  the  excursionists  had  but  two  ways 
to  go  after  leaving  the  pier,  half  of  them  came  our 
way. 

73 


74  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

Our  landlord  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and, 
in  an  apologetic  voice,  gave  out  the  impression  that 
seventy-five  cents  deposited  with  him  would  return 
to  the  depositor  its  face  value  in  the  kind  of  food 
that's  filling.  But  somehow  he  didn't  do  it  as  though 
he  himself  dined  at  his  own  hostelry.  There  wasn't 
any  pull  or  push  to  his  remarks.  Consequently  most 
of  the  people  walked  by  him,  to  line  up  at  a  restau 
rant,  where  you  could  get  all  you  wanted  of  what 
there  was  for  four  dimes  and  a  nickel,  with  two  pic 
ture  post-cards  as  premiums. 

Don  seemed  much  interested  in  watching  the 
operation.  He  didn't  sell  stocks  the  way  the  land 
lord  sold  dinners.  At  last  he  stepped  to  his  side, 
and  whispered,  "Let  me  bark  for  you.  I'll  fetch 
'em  in." 

The  landlord  was  willing,  really  rejoiced. 

Don  took  a  position  where  nobody  could  help  see 
ing  him,  struck  an  attitude,  and  began. 

"  The  one  and  only  place  where  you  can't  eat  all 
they  give  you,"  he  yelled. 

"Come  off!"  shouted  Walt,  "you're  driving 
folks  away.  Let  me  get  onto  the  job." 

Walt  swept  Don  aside,  swung  his  whiplike  arms, 
and,  keying  his  voice  up  to  the  seventh  C,  cried: 
"  Here's  where  you  get  real  food,  more  than  a  keg- 
ful  to  every  customer;  fresh  fish  with  the  hook  still 
sticking  into  him;  clams  that  were  basking  in  the- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  75 

sun  half  an  hour  ago ;  a  whole  pie  to  each  and  every 
eater;  a  bowlful  of  ice  cream  with  icicles  for  whisk 
ers  !  Get  in  line  there !  Tumble  up,  ladies,  and  the 
fellows  who're  putting  up  the  dough!  Just  a  few 
seats  left!  Who's  next?" 

The  crowd  stampeded  for  the  house,  and  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  were  turned  away. 

There  were  twenty-five-cents-per-head  fishing  and 
sailing  yachts,  which  twice  a  day  went  out  into  the 
bay  loaded  with  an  assortment  of  men  and  women 
of  every  age  and  condition,  some  of  them  amateur 
sailors,  who  squeal  and  squeak  when  a  ripple  strikes 
the  bowsprit  and  the  boat  heels  a  quarter  of  an  inch. 
Their  captains  were  clothed  in  sea-salted  hides  as 
thick  as  the  sweaters  folks  wear  when  it's  hot.  They 
knew  the  water  roads  so  well  that  they  could  scent 
their  way  in  a  fog  as  thick  as  the  density  of  a  Ph. 
D.-getting  thesis  on  "  The  Simplicity  of  Spoken 
Speech."  They  steered  by  instinct,  and  tacked  by 
intuition.  They  had  a  name  for  every  bar  and  rock, 
every  point  and  channel.  Pitch  them  overboard  in 
the  blackness  of  an  inky  night,  and  they  would  swim 
their  way  to  the  nearest  foothold.  If  their  boat 
turned  over,  they  would  straddle  the  keel,  rig  a  sail- 
out  of  the  slack  of  their  trousers,  and  steer  with 
the  flat  of  their  soles. 

Captain  Salter  was  the  dean  of  them  all.    He  was 
seventy  or  more,  as  burned  as  the  ribs  of  the  dingey 


76  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

he  towed,  and  had  a  roll  to  his  walk  that  would  put 
a  northeaster  wave  to  shame. 

We  were  members  of  one  of  his  fishing  parties. 
Unassisted  he  manned  the  wheel  and  sail,  and  be 
tween  tacks  he  let  out  a  flow  of  anecdote,  which,  if 
taken  at  its  flood,  would  have  washed  a  hole  in  the 
strongest  breakwater. 

His  mind  was  stored  with  stories,  and  he  told 
them  as  though  each  delivery  was  as  fresh  as  his 
counter-jumping  passengers,  who,  clothed  in  the 
starched  linen  of  their  extravagance,  wobbled  about 
the  cock-pit  in  vain  endeavors  to  keep  their  equili 
brium,  when  real  sailors  of  the  deep  knew  enough  to 
sit  down. 

The  passenger  list  was  made  up  of  the  usual 
amount  of  city  folks,  who  wouldn't  know  a  boat 
from  an  automobile,  if  both  were  wintering  in  a 
garage ;  and  who  can't  tell  a  compass  from  a  cyclom 
eter.  They  baited  their  hooks  in  the  interest  of 
the  fish,  and  held  the  slender  lines  with  grips  strong 
enough  to  keep  a  towline  taut. 

There  were  twenty  of  them  aboard,  half  and  half, 
old  and  young,  all  dressed  for  dinner,  women  in 
stays,  and  men  with  high  collars  and  creased  panta 
loons. 

They  looked  more  like  a  stranded  theater  party, 
than  care-free  summerers. 

After  a  while  we  reached  a  spot  where  a  lonesome 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  77 

fish  occasionally  rose  to  the  surface  and  dared  you 
to  catch  him.  The  captain  heaved  the  anchor,  to 
the  music  of  some  sympathetic  heaving  by  those  re 
sponsive  souls  who  never  fail  to  give  up  what  is  in 
them  when  there's  a  call  for  contributions. 

But  it  was  rough.  We  rose  and  fell  at  the  rise 
and  fall  of  the  rolling  billows,  which  have  no  respect 
for  those  who  dare  to  ride  them.  The  sun  poured 
its  red-hot  rays  upon  us,  the  boat  rocked  like  a 
cradle  on  a  pivot  to  the  lullabies  of  a  vernacular 
which  unassisted  tongue  could  never  utter. 

On  bended  knee,  and  in  various  indescribable  posi 
tions,  we  besought  the  captain  to  take  us  ashore,  to 
land  us  on  the  parched  sands  of  Short  Point,  to 
carry  us  to  any  place  where  the  sky  was  steady  and 
the  earth  was  at  rest. 

Poor  Don !  He  was  a  sight  that  would  start  the 
tears  out  of  the  closed,  chiseled  eyes  of  a  marble 
statue  in  cold  storage.  Upon  the  floor  of  the  cock 
pit  he  didn't  move  in  harmony  with  the  motion  of 
the  boat,  for  he  had  a  roll  his  exclusive  own.  Now 
and  then  he  tried  to  pull  himself  together,  only  to 
fall  prostrate  upon  the  hard  floor.  As  a  sailor  he 
was  a  failure,  but  as  a  contortionist  he  would  have 
outgeneraled  the  squirming  human  eel  of  the  great 
est  show  on  earth. 

Arch  alone  sat  in  the  majestic  dignity  of  his  well- 
balanced  interior,  which  ignored  the  roll  and  the 


78  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

rock.  Until  he  could  formulate  a  psychological 
reason  for  internal  disturbance,  he  would  not,  he 
could  not,  respond  to  any  influence  which  didn't  ap 
pear  in  the  lexicon  of  his  science.  For  once  psychol 
ogy  found  a  place  which  even  Tom  couldn't  criti 
cise. 

But  why  not  change  the  slide  and  let  another  pic 
ture  cover  the  sheet  of  my  story? 

We  were  out  fishing.  What  about  the  fish?  If 
the  sea  had  been  solid  with  fish,  so  closely  packed  to 
gether  that  they  covered  the  surface  of  the  water 
with  a  carpet  as  firm  as  macadam,  I  wouldn't  have 
dropped  a  naked  hook  into  their  open  jaws;  but 
rather  I  would  have  run  along  upon  their  backs  un 
til  I  reached  a  place  with  no  rollicking,  playful, 
mirthful  water  under  it. 

Fish?  Hereafter  I'll  cast  my  line  from  off  a 
stone-arched  bridge,  and  close  my  eyes  at  the  tiniest 
ripple  of  the  well-behaved  water. 

I  don't  report  any  of  the  discussions  held  on 
board,  for  several  good  and  sufficient  reasons,  among 
which  I  will  mention  the  compulsory  absence  of  any 
contention  which  may  be  expressed  jn  printable 
words.  Each  of  us  was  busy  attending  to  matters 
which  couldn't  be  postponed,  and  while  none  of  us 
would  have  refused  to  share  his  inner  feelings  with 
the  rest,  there  was  an  absence  of  that  fraternity, 
which,  although  it  did  not  affect  our  spontaneity, 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  79 

was  not  conducive  to  any  appearance  of  other  than 
material  outpourings. 

It's  a  pretty  rough  sea,  however,  that  doesn't  wash 
up  good  to  somebody.  There  was  at  least  one  com 
pensating  incident.  The  crease  was  soaked  out  of 
Don's  white  trousers,  and  as  he  stood  upon  the 
wharf,  with  his  tailor-made  suit  of  white  flannel 
clinging  to  him,  my  heart  filled  with  thanksgiving  to 
Neptune,  who  had,  for  a  time,  reduced  the  dude 
population  to  one  less  than  would  have  descrated 
the  earth,  if  Don  had  remained  ashore. 


CHAPTER  XV 

RIGHT  here  originally  appeared  the  best  (even 
if  it  were  original)  salt  sea  snapper  of  a  joke 
that  ever  grew  out  of  Cape  Cod  sand.  It  came  to 
me  while  I  was  opening  an  envelope  containing  an 
unexpected  check,  which  drove  my  good  nature  to 
the  surface,  and  made  me  feel  on  the  best  of  terms 
with  even  the  acquaintances  I  despise. 

I  grabbed  my  pen  and  wrote  it  out.  It  was  too 
good  to  be  tampered  with  or  revised.  Without 
adornment  I  wrote  it  into  this  page,  and  even  I,  its 
author,  laughed  at  it. 

It  went  to  the  publisher,  and  escaped  the  eye  of 
the  automatic,  cog-wheel-working  proof-reader,  who 
mechanically  works  without  thinking,  hunting  for 
errors  as  the  dumb  magnet  draws  the  bits  of  help 
less  steel  unto  itself. 

But  my  friend,  the  editor,  having  nothing  im 
portant  to  do,  read  every  other  page  of  the  proof. 
He  had  informed  me,  incidentally,  in  his  sweet, 
quiet  way  that  the  omission  of  the  intervening 
pages  did  not  detract  from  the  quality  of  the  book. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  his  roving  eye  struck  this 

joke.     He  telephoned  me. 

80 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  81 

"Say,  old  man,"  he  said,  "I  have  just  read  page 


"  Great,  isn't  it?"  I  exclaimed,  and  even  the  tele 
phone  receiver  blushed  at  my  enthusiasm.  "  That's 
my  banner  joke.  I  can  hear  it  strike  twelve.  What 
a  wonderful  control  you  have  over  yourself,  my 
dear  boy,  in  subduing  your  peals  of  hilarity!  Do 
you  know,  I  laughed  at  it  myself,  and  every  time  I 
think  of  it,  a  breakfast-food  smile  smashes  the  calm 
of  my  placidity." 

"Your  what?" 

"My    p  1  a  c  i  d  i  t  y." 

"  Joe,"  he  replied,  and  the  wire  aided  and  abetted 
the  metallic  severity  of  his  words,  "  Joe,  I  deeply 
regret  to  be  obliged  officially  to  inform  you  that 
page must  be  omitted." 

"Why?"  I  yelled. 

I  could  feel  the  bracing  up  of  Frank,  the  editor. 
There  was  a  pause.  He  was  concentrating  all  of 
his  reserve  strength  into  his  mouth. 

"  Joe," — the  wire  groaned  and  snapped, — "  Joe," 
he  repeated,  "is  it  possible  that  you,  or  any  other 
man  of  miscroscopic  sense,  with  even  the  minutest 
molecule  of  atomized  discrimination,  could  have  con 
sidered  for  the  one-millionth  part  of  a  split  second 
that  what  you  wrote  during  a  moment  of  temporary 
insanity  possesses  the  reflected  semblance  of  the 
faintest  shadow  of  even  inexcusable  humor?  " 


82  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"Frank!" 

"  Shut  up.  This  is  my  call.  Wait,  Joe,"  he  con 
tinued  in  that  gray,  dismal,  distant  tone,  "  Joe " 

The  strain  was  more  than  mortal  tongue  could 
stand. 

"Frank!"  I  shouted,  "Frank!  For  the  love  of 
the  seven  original  gods  of  humor,  come  off,  come 
down!  You  can't  fool  me  with  your  acting.  The 
joke  hit  you  so  hard  that  you  can't  see  straight.  I 
can  hardly  keep  the  lines  of  my  face  intact,  or 
wiggle  my  tongue  at  regulation  time,  when  I  think  of 
that  alliteration,  so  wonderful,  so  grand,  so  superb, 
penetrating  the  density  of  modern  humor  in  one 
fell  swoop  of  excruciating  wit.  *  Salt  sea  sauce ' 
and  *  bounding  billows  billing ! '  Howl,  you  numb 
skull,  howl!" 

"  I  am,"  broke  in  Frank,  "  and  the  dog  is  ac 
companying  me." 

I  paused.     What  did  he  mean? 

"Frank,"  I  called,  "don't  you  think  that  joke 
had  better  be  printed  in  larger  type,  so  that  the 
reviewers  won't  miss  it?  " 

"  If  we  set  it  in  circus-poster  type  as  big  as  the 
blanket  on  the  elephant,"  replied  Frank,  "  and  the 
whole  world  wore  spy  glasses,  nobody  would  see  the 
point." 

Then  a  ripple  of  intelligence  began  to  trickle  down 
my  mental  vertebras.  He  was  in  earnest!  The 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  83 

sharp  joke  end  of  my  humor  had  not  even  pricked 
through  the  sole-leather  covering  of  his  cast-iron 
ribs. 

"Frank!" 

No  answer. 

"Frank!     Frank!" 

"Well?" 

"  Frank,"  I  said,  and  I  was  measuring  my  words, 
"  are  you  serious?  Is  the  upper  strata  of  your  con- 
ceivability  too  thick  to  be  penetrated  by  anything 
that  isn't  injected  into  it?  Explain,  if  you  have  suf 
ficient  grasp  upon  our  common  vernacular  to  ex 
press  yourself  with  as  much  as  cloudy  clearness." 

"  Don't  hump  yourself,"  came  over  the  wire.  "  I 
didn't  say  I  wouldn't  use  the  stuff.  I  merely  in 
formed  you  that  I  wouldn't  print  it." 

"  Whatcher  going  to  do  with  it?"  I  asked,  with 
a  calmness  born  of  amazement. 

"  Joe,"  he  replied,  and  he  knew  that  I  knew  that 
he  was  too  far  away  for  me  to  hit  him,  "  I'm  going 
to  hang  that  page  in  my  yard  on  washdays." 

I  fell  into  the  hole. 

"  What  for?  "  I  asked,  fool  that  I  was. 

"  So  that  the  clothes  may  dry  even  when  it  rains." 

Simultaneously  we  dropped  the  instruments.  I 
opened  the  window  that  what  I  said  might  not  dam 
age  the  furniture. 

That  joke,  my  best  joke,  the  finest  piece  of  super- 


84  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

refined  humor  ever  built  by  man,  is  working — but 
not  in  this  book.  It  is  the  pride  of  Rainy  Monday. 
It  would  do  a  blind  man  good  to  see  the  smile  of 
the  wet  wash  as  it  casts  its  dampness  upon  it  and 
waves  its  appreciation. 

What  is  a  joke?  I  have  searched  the  diction 
aries,  and  waylaid  the  encyclopedias.  I  have  read  the 
pictures  in  "  Life,"  "  Puck,"  and  "  Judge."  I  have 
slept  with  the  "  Old  Farmer's  Almanack  "  under  my 
pillow.  But  the  answer  cometh  not. 

The  reader  laughs  at  what  he  thinks  is  funny,  and 
asks  no  questions.  By  and  by,  perhaps,  somebody, 
not  here,  but  elsewhere,  may,  in  his  laboratory, 
analyze  a  joke,  if  he  can  find  one,  and  write  out  the 
formula  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WE  were  back  in  Boston  again,  at  the  Round 
Table,  eating  cold  rice  and  drinking  iced 
tea. 

Why  did  I  abruptly  close  up  Promiston,  and  neg 
lect  to  describe  the  incidents  that  marked  our  home 
ward  trip? 

That's  my  business.  When  my  mind  grows  weary, 
and  my  pen  needs  a  rest,  I  shall  announce  an  inter 
mission,  retire  to  my  dressing-room,  smoke  up,  and 
wait  for  my  shifting  brain  to  set  another  scene. 


85 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  was  hot !  The  bacteria  of  Boston's  culture  were 
too  heated  to  spread  the  germs  of  intellectual 
ity,  which  are  epidemic  and  riotous  during  the  days 
of  the  Symphony,  and  when  the  New  Art  Museum  is 
free  to  the  public. 

The  oil  on  the  Fenway  roads  looked  like  blisters 
on  an  auto  shoe.  The  blue  ink  on  the  editorial  pages 
of  the  "  Sanskrit "  was  losing  color,  and  becoming 
pale  enough  to  mingle  its  exclusiveness  with  the 
abutting  columns  of  sterlized  news  and  pasteurized 
comment. 

The  Back  Bay  wind  was  sleeping,  and  the  side 
walks  of  stone  and  brick  seemed  just  out  of  super 
heated  ovens,  and  radiated  a  warmth  known  to  Bos 
ton  only  when  Nature  is  free  to  do  as  she  pleases. 

It  was  so  hot  that  the  members  of  the  Chaucer 
Club,  in  meeting  assembled,  sat  in  their  shirt-sleeves, 
while  eye-glassed  waiters  sprinkled  the  sizzling 
tables  with  the  melting  metaphors  of  chilled  refine 
ment. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here,"  moaned  Arch,  "and  be 
quick  about  it." 

"Where?"  asked  the  Professor. 
86 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  87 

"  Anywhere,"  murmured  Walt,  for  it  was  too  hot 
to  exercise  his  full  voice. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  interjected  Don. 
"We'll  take  the  Banfield  boat.  Maybe  it's  cool 
somewhere.  We'll  go  to  Banfield,  then  to  the  lake 
region,  camp  out,  fish  the  lakes,  and  bask  in  the 
shade  of  the  primeval  forests,  and— — " 

"You  can't  'bask  in  the  shade,'  "  drawled  Arch, 
and  he  would  have  said  more,  had  not  the  streams 
of  perspiration  filled  his  mouth. 

Don  didn't  even  look  at  him. 

"  Yes,  boys,"  he  continued,  "  we'll  take  a  grip 
apiece,  no  trunks,  and  have  the  delightfulest  of 
don't-care-a-continental  times." 

"  Shut  up,"  whispered  Tom,  "  it  makes  me  pers 
pire  to  listen." 

"  We'll  meet  at  the  wharf  at  a  quarter  to  five," 
said  Don.  "I'll  see  to  the  tickets  and  staterooms." 

We  were  there,  all  but  Arch.  He  missed  the  boat 
by  a  quarter  of  an  inch. 

"  Take  the  train,"  yelled  Tom,  as  the  boat  swung 
clear  of  the  dock. 

Did  you  ever  go  Down  East  in  a  Down-East 
steamer?  Better  do  it.  She's  a  great  big  craft, 
with  a  dozen  decks,  more  or  less,  a  feeding  place  in 
the  stern,  and  many  tiers  of  box  spaces,  called  by 
courtesy  "  staterooms." 

If  as  much  of  the  boat  were  under  water  as  looms 


88  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

up  above  it,  the  keel  would  bump  along  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean,  like  a  Mississippi  steamboat  running 
over  sand  bars. 

We  sailed  along  steadily  until  we  passed  the 
lower  light,  and  then  the  water  ran  into  the  smoke 
stack,  the  waves  soused  the  windows,  the  decks  were 
under  water,  and  everything  and  everybody  rolled, 
rolled,  rolled. 

Twice  we  turned  a  complete  somersault,  but  her 
propellers  didn't  stop.  They  were  as  used  to  beat 
ing  fog  as  to  churning  water. 

It  was  so  wet  and  sticky  that  I  didn't  lash  my 
self  to  the  fence  which  encircled  the  decks.  Securely 
I  stuck  to  what  I  sat  on. 

"  Captain,"  I  remarked,  as  that  officer,  shod  in 
pneumatic  boots,  which  enabled  him  to  walk  on 
deck  as  a  fly  parades  the  ceiling,  happened  to  pass 
near  me,  "  is  it  always  as  rough  as  this  ?  " 

"  Rough ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Rough !  This  rough? 
Say,  you  oughT  to  have  been  with  us  last  week.  We 
were  under  water  most  of  the  time,  and  when  we 
docked,  the  ship  was  bottomside  up." 

"  How  did  you  manage  ?  "  I  inquired  meekly,  as 
I  fell  into  the  trap  he  had  opened  for  me. 

"  Easily,"  replied  the  Captain.  "  We  put  rollers 
on  the  top  of  the  smokestacks  and  masts,  and 
skated  over  the  bottom." 

Some   day   I'll   meet  that    officer   on    solid   land. 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  89 

Then  I'll  wallop  him  until  he  can't  tell  whether  he's 
walking  on  mud  or  treading  on  air.  There  are  times 
when  language  is  as  insufficient  to  handle  a  proposi 
tion  as  is  a  human  stomach  to  digest  the  leather 
and  bullets  fired  into  it  from  out  the  magazine  of  a 
buffet-car  pantry. 

It  was  so  thick  that  I  couldn't  distinguish  myself 
from  the  other  passengers.  Having  nothing  to  do, 
I  passed  the  time  by  cutting  the  fog  into  blocks, 
and  playing  dominoes  with  them. 

In  the  morning  we  were  in  the  river,  at  least  so 
one  of  those  gilt-girdled  semi-sphinxes  condescended 
to  inform  me.  I  had  asked  him  four  times  to  ex 
plain  the  absence  of  the  motion  which  all  night  had 
systematically  dropped  me  from  berth  to  floor  and 
jerked  me  back  again. 

I  had  read  about  the  grandeur  and  verdure  of  the 
stately  hills,  those  forest-topped  sentinels,  which 
guard  the  shores  of  the  river.  But  I  didn't  see 
them. 

To  never  be  disappointed,  I  recommended  the  con 
tinuous  accompaniment  of  a  bundle  of  that  wonder 
fully  constructed  railroad  and  steamboat  literature, 
which,  with  the  connivance  of  the  docile  camera, 
pictures  only  icicled  nooks  in  summer,  and  limits  its 
descriptions  to  the  lore  that  lures  the  languid  tourist 
from  the  cool  of  his  home  veranda,  and  his  ever- 
present  bathroom,  into  Saharas  of  sun-smacked 


90  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

sand,  and  to  the  lands  where  the  trees  absorb  the 
heat  of  the  breezes  and  blow  it  at  you  in  torrid 
humidity. 

By  following  the  biased  maps,  and  far  more  de 
ceiving  descriptions,  I  was  able  to  realize  that  I  was 
sailing  between  solid  phalanxes  of  commercially 
selected  scenery,  plentifully  intermixed  with  some 
history  and  much  legend.  On  either  side  of  me,  so 
said  the  guide  book,  were  untold  millions  of  prehis 
toric  Lover's  Leaps,  open-air  theaters,  upon  whose 
rocky  and  grassy  stages  the  Indians  played  their 
war  dramas,  while  the  early  settlers  cast  the  first 
dice  of  graft. 

Every  now  and  then  I  hailed  a  blue-coated  officer, 
and  asked  him  the  questions  he  had  fought  against 
for  years.  A  grunted  reply,  usually  indistinguish 
able,  occasionally  gave  me  the  information  that  we 
were  passing  a  spot  of  historic  interest.  I  traced 
it  upon  the  map,  read  what  a  writer  who  had  never 
been  there  had  intimately  described,  and  enjoyed  the 
scenery  I  didn't  see. 

When  I  get  back,  I  shall  join  a  correspondence 
school  of  imagination.  I  recall  a  graduate  of  this 
absent-treatment  institution  of  learning,  which  for 
wards  its  canned  curriculums  by  mail.  Her  brain 
was  ninety-nine  per  cent,  imagination.  She  stayed 
at  home,  and  took  her  vacation  alongside  the  guide 
book.  Without  effort,  and  without  expense,  she 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  91 

toured  the  world  on  paper.  Seated  in  her  shady 
bower,  she  sailed  her  imagination  upon  paper  seas, 
traveled  the  continents  upon  paper  trains,  and 
climbed  paper  monuments  upon  paper  stairs. 

How  happy  and  serene  she  looked,  taking  her 
costless  vacation !  No  fares  to  pay,  no  waits,  no 
annoyances!  Her  ships  met  with  no  delays.  Her 
trains  were  on  time.  No  rain  spoiled  her  hat  or 
soaked  her  shoes.  The  baking  sun  of  the  tropics 
scorched  her  not.  The  ocean's  roll  didn't  affect  her 
appetite,  and  there  was  no  food  so  mysterious  as  to 
disturb  her  digestion. 

After  a  camel  ride  over  the  burning  Egyptian 
sands,  she  would  lay  aside  her  book,  and  rest  in  the 
coolness  of  an  electric  fan,  while  the  foolish  folks, 
who  leave  their  homes,  swelter  in  the  still  air  of  a 
foreign  atmosphere. 

With  all  the  comforts  of  home  surrounding  her, 
the  whole  world  was  at  her  elbow. 

We  bumped  against  something.  I  jumped  at  the 
recoil  of  the  boat.  The  deck  hand  near  me  grinned. 

"  What  did  we  hit?  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  know,  but  reckon  it's  Banfield." 

"Often  strike  it  that  hard?  "  I  queried. 

"  Generally  worse,"  was  all  he  said. 

We  got  out.  If  there  was  any  Banfield  in  sight, 
we  didn't  see  it.  The  naked  eye  could  discern 
nothing  save  a  few  looming-up  shadows,  which  may 


92  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

have  been  the  outriggers  of  Banfield's  marine  im 
portance. 

From  out  the  fog  came  screams  of  rivalry,  bespeak 
ing  the  attractions  of  the  competing  hostelries,  which 
guaranteed  to  give  you  a  bed  with  board  for  a  fee 
consistent  with  the  advanced  cost  of  the  viands  they 
didn't  serve. 

"  All  aboard  for  the  Banfield  House ! "  yelled  a 
voice  whose  owner  we  couldn't  see.  "  Only  hotel  in 
the  city  with  a  piazza  overlooking  the  water." 

For  foggy  reasons  that  didn't  appeal  to  us. 

"Free  'bus  to  Hotel  Holder,"  shouted  an  indi 
vidual  who  later  loomed  up  in  the  mist  as  he 
grabbed  Tom's  bag.  "  Finest  table  east  of  New 
York." 

He  said  this  without  a  blush — and  we  from  Bos 
ton! 

"Anything  on  it?  "  asked  Tom,  with  that  child 
like  placidity  which  would  have  wrung  a  contribu 
tion  out  of  a  trust  philanthropist. 

The  runner  looked  at  him,  but  as  he  hadn't 
memorized  a  suitable  reply,  he  said  nothing. 

We  got  into  the  'bus,  and  there,  on  the  front 
seat,  were  the  outlines  of  a  somebody  who  we  after 
wards  discovered  was  Arch.  His  train,  although 
several  hours  late, — if  it  had  been  on  time  the  con 
ductor  would  have  lost  his  job, — had  arrived  just 
before  our  boat  struck  the  dock,  and  Arch,  working 
under  an  unnatural  flash  of  intelligence,  had  actually 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  93 

navigated  the  space  between  the  hotel  and  the 
wharf. 

"  This  rather  reminds  me  of  your  last  speech," 
remarked  Walt,  after  we  were  assured  of  Arch's 
identity. 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Arch  quietly,  "  I  always 
thought  they  were  dry." 

Nobody  laughed,  although  the  joke,  or  pun,  or 
whatever  else  it  may  have  been,  was  several  leagues 
ahead  of  Arch's  usual  display  of  alleged  humor. 

"  Where's  the  town?  "  asked  the  Professor  of  the 
driver. 

"  Right  here,"  was  the  reply,  and  then  there  was 
silence,  the  kind  that  you  can't  dissipate  with  knife, 
fork,  or  gun;  quiet  so  still  that  you  could  hear  it 
resting. 

Shaking  the  fog  from  off  our  clothing,  we  entered 
the  hotel. 

"All  alone?"  asked  the  greased  and  ironed  czar, 
who  filled  the  office  with  his  sublime  importance,  of 
each  of  us,  after  we  had  separately  and  collectively 
told  him  that  we  wanted  six  communicating  rooms 
with  three  baths. 

"  You  mean  with  a  door  between  'em,"  he  re 
marked,  after  the  full  significance  of  our  request 
had  soaked  into  his  hair-grown  skull. 

"  That's  the  idea,"  said  Arch,  coming  to  the 
rescue.  "  We  desire  to  occupy  six  regular  spaces, 
each,  with  the  exception  of  the  outer  two,  abutting 


94  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

on  either  side  with  others  of  their  kind,  with  open 
ings,  commonly  known  as  doors,  in  their  partitions, 
which  otherwise  would  be  impervious  to  intercom 
munication.  And,  further,  we  request  that  between 
these  selected  spaces  there  be  walled  off  smaller  ones, 
which,  in  most  parts  of  our  country,  are  designated 
in  the  common  vernacular  as  bathrooms." 

The  hotel  keeper  gasped. 

"  We  hain't  got  'em,"  was  all  he  said. 

"  Let  me  handle  this  affair,"  said  Don,  as  he  waved 
us  aside. 

After  a  series  of  vocal  marches  and  counter 
marches,  Don  got  close  enough  to  the  clerk  to  pro 
cure  three  sets  of  rooms  with  half  a  bathroom  per 
room,  and,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  midafternoon, 
we  unanimously  went  to  bed. 

(There's  something  wrong  with  that  last  expres 
sion,  but  let  it  stand.  For  the  first  time  there  was 
complete  unanimity,  one  solitary  thought  that  con 
sumed  us.  We  were  tired.  A  bumpful  night  aboard 
a  virtual  carousal  on  the  deep  demanded  sleep,  and 
plenty  of  it.) 

We  met  at  the  dinner  table,  ourselves  again,  save 
Arch,  whose  troubled  brain  refused  to  permit  him  to 
close  his  eyes  or  to  close  up  his  mind.  Upon  his 
felt-painted  mattress  of  straw  he  had  stretched  him 
self,  while  his  stubborn  intellect  hunted  in  vain  for 
the  reason  why  he  didn't  involuntarily  go  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WE  were  now  on  our  way  to  that  expensive 
body  of  cold,  deep,  fresh  water  named  in 
honor  of  the  last  surviving  quadruped,  who,  in  his 
lonesomeness,  overdrank  at  its  shores,  and  died  in 
the  absence  of  his  kind. 

Before  entering  the  now-tracked  wilderness,  we 
stopped  for  two  days  at  one  of  those  huge  con 
glomerations  of  stone,  lumber,  rocks,  and  plaster, 
which  rise  out  of  the  devastated  forest,  and  is  ad 
vertised  to  ooze  with  the  perfume  of  the  balsam, 
which  was  sprinkled  upon  its  timbers  with  the  aid  of 
a  huge  atomizer  charged  with  the  manufactured  odor 
of  the  smells  of  all  out-doors. 

In  the  pictures  of  those  architectural  monstrosi 
ties,  we  had  seen  men  sitting  in  the  calm,  cool  com 
fort  of  deshabille,  while  diamondless  women  frol- 
licked  upon  the  mossy  slopes  separating  the  two- 
mile  piazza  and  the  smiling  water,  which  never  of  its 
own  accord  scowled  at  anybody. 

If,  however,  there  were  any  of  these  care-free, 
sensible,  and  comfortably  dressed  individuals  there 
abouts,  they  must  have  been  in  their  rooms,  for  all 

in  evidence  were  decked  out  in  the  costumes  which 

95 


96  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

are  prescribed  upon  the  commandment  slabs  of  fash 
ion,  before  which  society  is  never  brave  enough  to 
raise  a  whisper  of  dissension. 

Sometime  somebody  somewhere  (kindly  note  the 
alliterative  sibillation)  will  gather  about  him  a  suf 
ficient  number  of  men  and  women  of  sense  to  nip  the 
summer  bloom  of  style  in  its  bud,  and  then  folks 
will  not  be  mere  forms  upon  which  to  hang  the 
vagaries  of  a  fashion  born  of  mental  weakness  and 
fostered  by  commercialism. 

Only  two  of  the  men  guests,  so  far  as  we  could 
see,  were  dressed  to  meet  the  weather,  and  none  of 
the  women  wore  clothes  which  a  self-respecting  dog 
could  have  been  forced  into  unless  you  muzzled  him. 
On  every  hand  glittered  the  gilt  of  gold  plate  and 
the  stones  of  extravagance. 

The  hotel  was  so  big  that  elevating  railroads  car 
ried  you  from  floor  to  floor,  and  trolleys  ran  at  min 
ute  headway,  through  corridors  so  long  that  you 
had  to  look  twice  to  see  the  end  of  them. 

The  lower  floor  was  one  immense  hall.  In  the 
middle  of  it,  and  from  out  of  it,  radiated  innumerable 
apartments,  each  decorated  in  recognition  of  the 
renaissance  of  some  mildewed  art,  which  even  the  in- 
sanest  wild  man  wouldn't  have  dared  to  assemble  un 
supported  by  what  fools  call  style. 

We  were  trying  to  seat  ourselves  upon  half  a 
dozen  chairs,  which  were  built  in  a  vain  attempt  to 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  97 

restore  to  modern  use  the  hard-tack  furniture  of  a 
vintage  which  soured  prehistoric  ages  ago. 

Around  us  sat  a  hundred  or  less  specimens  of  what 
are  profanely  called  "  summer  girls," — pollened 
blossoms  on  society's  stalks,  which  would  mate  with 
their  kind,  and  populate  the  earth  with  a  grade  of 
two-legged  animals,  spavined  and  deformed,  too  lean 
and  lank  for  canning.  Their  wagging  tongues  beat 
the  odoriferous  air  in  disharmony  to  the  leader's 
baton,  as  he  forced  his  perspiring  orchestra  to  grind 
out  notes  which  wouldn't  be  negotiable  in  any  bank 
or  bucket  shop  of  discord. 

For  room  and  board,  this  handful  of  string 
sawers  and  horn  tooters  filed  or  blew  out  holes  in 
the  scores  of  the  great  masters,  while  meaningless 
and  petty  gossip  saturated  the  air,  and  golden 
thimbles  pushed  the  needles  into  fabrics  fore 
ordained  to  blush  as  they  spread  themselves  upon 
the  powdered  shoulders  of  peek-a-boo  nudity. 

After  we  had  sat  awhile,  trying  to  separate  a  few 
of  the  musical  strains  from  out  the  gossipy  chorus, 
which  rose  and  fell  as  disconnected  tongues  beat  their 
everlasting  tattoo  upon  the  stifling  air,  we  adjourned 
to  one  of  the  tiers  of  piazzas,  which  in  parallel  lines 
encircled  the  hotel.  Here  the  men  congregated, 
some  of  them  owners,  but  most  of  them  drivers,  of 
autos  and  chattel  mortgages, — a  mixed  crowd  of  am 
bitious  individuals,  each  vying  with  his  neighbor  in 


98  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

a  perpetual  struggle  to  receive  recognition  for  those 
things  which  only  money  can  give  and  which  have 
no  market  except  among  financial  climbers. 

Here  were  bankers  and  bankers'  clerks,  soap 
makers  and  their  customers,  with  a  plentiful  sprink 
ling  of  would-bes  and  soon-to-be-has-beens,  a  com 
peting  assortment  of  all  the  kinds  that  make  up 
that  unanalyzable  conglomeration  which  the  world 
calls  society,  with  here  and  there  an  educated  as.s, 
who  wags  his  tail  at  pretension  and  brays  at  the 
torturing  toot  of  the  horn  of  money. 

Next  to  us  sat  two  of  those  self-inflated  specimens 
of  that  growing  clan  of  men  who  are  full  of  cash 
to-day  and  empty  to-morrow.  We  couldn't  help 
hearing  all  that  they  said,  because,  while  apparently 
talking  to  each  other,  they  were  casting  their 
words  out  into  the  wide,  wide  world.  Money 
fairly  rolled  from  their  mouths.  They  talked  high 
finance,  and  each  in  his  turn  went  his  neighbor 
one  better  in  presenting  his  claim  for  financial 
immensity. 

Don  thought  he  recognized  one  of  them. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Walton?"  he  inquired  politely. 

The  addressed  barely  turned  his  head  when  he  an 
swered  with  a  snappy  "Yes." 

"  I  think  I  met  you  at  the  Knockers'  Club,"  said 
Don. 

"Maybe,"  returned  the  gentleman,  hardly  look- 


THE   KNOCKERS'    CLUB  99 

ing  at  Don.  "  I  think  that  I  was  there  once,  for  a 
day  never  passes  unaccompanied  by  a  dozen  invita 
tions  to  attend  as  guest  our  leading  business  and 
social  functions,  and  there  are  times  when  I  find  it 
advisable  to  be  somewhat  democratic,  and  to  be 
present  at  meetings  which  are  not  attended  by  those 
of  my  class." 

We  said  nothing. 

"  Queer  sort  of  a  crowd,  those  Knockers,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  Saw  nobody  there  that  was  much  of  any 
body.  Awful  bore." 

"  Guess  you're  right,"  replied  Don  seriously. 
"  Most  of  the  fellows  who  go  there  are  certainly  not 
of  your  kind.  Money  isn't  the  long  suit  with  the 
Knockers." 

"I  should  say  not,"  the  gentleman  condescended 
to  reply.  "  Common  sort  of  folks,  poor  professors 
and  unknown  authors.  One  wastes  his  time  to  talk 
with  'em." 

"  But  I'm  one  of  'em,"  said  Don  smilingly. 

The  gentleman  turned  to  Don,  scrutinized  him 
closely,  and  remarked,  "  Well,  I  suppose  there  are  a 
few  gentlemen  among  them." 

"  Yes,  a  few,"  replied  Don,  with  quiet  dignity. 
"  But,  by  the  way,  my  friend,  are  you  not  connected 
with  the  cotton  industry?  " 

"  I  would  hardly  say  '  connected,'  "  he  replied. 
"  I  sometimes  feel  that  I  am  the  industry."  And  he 


100  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

said  it  without  the  semblance  of  a  smile  upon  his 
face. 

Don  was  plainly  irritated. 

"You  are  Mr.  Walton?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  with  a  voice  full  of  pride,  while 
the  same  passion  illuminated  his  red  and  mottled 
face.  "  I  am  Charles  B.  Walton,  the  president  and 
majority  stock-holder  in  the  great  Walton  Cotton 
Company,  which,  of  course,  you  have  heard  of." 

"  Yes,"  drawled  Don,  with  unmistakable  indiffer 
ence.  "  I  know  your  house  pretty  well." 

"What's  your  business?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Don  slowly,  "  it's  pretty  hard  to 
say  just  what  it  is.  I've  sold  goods,  and  was  a 
book-keeper  for  a  spell.  Lately  I've  worked  in  one  of 
the  banks,  but  don't  like  my  job,  and  maybe  I'll 
make  a  change,  if  I  get  a  chance." 

"  Then,  of  course,  you  know  my  bank,  the  Metro 
politan?  "  said  the  gentleman  pompously. 

"Your  bank?"  interrogated  Don  simply. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  gentleman  with  a  flourish, 
"  not  exactly  my  bank,  but  I  suppose  I  could  call  it 
that,  if  I  had  a  mind  to.  Our  house  is  its  biggest 
depositor,  and  the  bank  knuckles  down  to  us.  I 
could  be  president  of  it,  if  I  said  the  word." 

"  The  Metropolitan  Bank?  "  inquired  Don  gently. 

"The  same." 

"I  dislike  to  contradict  a  gentleman,"  said  Don 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  101 

politely,  "  but  I  fear  that  you  are  laboring  under 
a  slight  delusion.  Your  house  is  not  the  heaviest 
depositor  by  a  thundering  big  majority." 

The  gentleman  rose  to  his  feet,  casting  an  angry 
eye  upon  Don,  which  didn't  seem  to  damage  him, 
and  shouted,  "  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  sir,  and  I 
care  less,  but  you're  a  liar,  sir,  a  liar,  and  I  demand 
an  apology." 

"  What !  For  telling  the  truth?  "  questioned  Don, 
without  any  indication  that  he  felt  the  fear  the 
speaker  believed  he  had  generated  in  him. 

"How  dare  you  dispute  me,  sir?"  retorted  Mr. 
Walton.  "Do  you,  a  mere  employee  of  some  insig 
nificant  banking  house,  assume  to  take  exception  to 
my  statements?  Who  are  you,  pray?" 

"  Nobody  in  particular,"  drawled  Don.  "  Not 
much  of  anybody.  Only  a  mere  employee,  as  you  put 
it.  Just  the  unfortunate  president  of  the  Metro 
politan  Bank,  and  one  of  the  starving  owners  of  the 
building  you  are  in.  But,"  and  Don  raised  his  voice, 
"  you  won't  be  there  long,  unless  you  pony  up  with 
your  rent." 

If  ever  a  man  was  astonished,  amazed,  frustrated, 
and  flabbergasted,  it  was  President  Walton  of  the 
great  Walton  Cotton  Company.  He  sank  into  his 
chair,  remained  there  for  a  while,  then  tried  to 
speak. 

"  Don't  say  it,"  said  Don  gently,  "  let  it  go  by 


103  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

default.  But  hark  you,  my  friend,  to  a  little  advice, 
which  I'll  lend  you  without  discount.  When  you 
want  to  brag,  and  to  draw  the  long  bow  to  its  break 
ing  point,  tackle  fellows  you  know  don't  know  how 
you're  fixed.  Good-morning." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OME,  boys,"  said  Don,  "let's  go  down  to  the 
tennis  grounds.  I  used  to  play  a  pretty 
good  sort  of  a  game  years  ago,  and  maybe  I  haven't 
forgotten  how  to  hit  a  ball." 

The  tennis  court  was  located  back  of  the  hotel, 
and  already  was  well  filled  with  men  and  women, 
dressed,  not  for  the  game,  but  for  the  lookers  on, 
and  who  used  a  racket  as  a  dude  carries  a  cane,  to 
strut  round  with,  and  the  ball  as  an  excuse  for  the 
aggravating  display  of  silk-covered  ankles. 

Among  the  tennisers  was  a  young  man  who  looked 
older  than  he  probably  was,  every  other  time  that 
your  eye  fell  upon  him,  clad  in  white  below  and 
stripes  above.  Taking  him  as  a  whole,  he  resembled 
one  of  those  fill-in  members  of  an  outdoor  chorus,  in 
a  play  where  inappropriately  dressed  supernumer 
aries  seem  necessary  to  throw  the  leading  lady  into 
the  lime  light.  A  fraternity  button  plugged  a  but 
tonhole,  and  upon  his  fob  swung  the  insignia  of  an 
other  of  the  numerous  fraternities  which  spread  fra 
ternity  by  refusing  to  fraternize  with  the  fellows 
whose  Alma  Mater  is  the  great  world  of  accomplish 
ment. 

103 


104.  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

He  had  the  grace  of  a  master  of  ceremonies  at  a 
second-class  beach  house,  and  seemed  to  move  in  an 
atmosphere  distinctively  of  his  own  generating.  His 
self-esteem  enveloped  him  in  a  shroud  impervious  to 
the  dust  of  common  earth.  He  was  a  puppet  of 
politeness,  one  of  those  deliciously  dear,  sweet,  per 
fumed  gentlemen,  who  would  rather  starve  to  death 
in  evening  dress  than  eat  off  of  a  bare  board  or  drink 
out  of  a  tin  dipper. 

His  words,  each  selected  and  society-ized,  slipped 
gently  between  his  carmined  lips,  and  fell  upon  his 
hearers  like  soap  bubbles,  which  bounce  and  play 
gleefully  before  they  evaporate  into  nothing.  He 
was  so  nice,  so  very  nice,  so  overnice,  so  infernally 
nice,  that  when  a  real  man  looked  at  him,  he,  the 
man,  felt  an  irresistible  and  uncontrollable  desire 
to  take  him  by  the  nape  of  his  rose-colored  neck,  lift 
him  aloft,  and  squeeze  him  till  he  sputtered. 

He  danced  lightly  upon  the  ground,  for  he  was 
abnormally  light  upon  his  feet.  All  eyes  were  upon 
him,  and  his  eyes  wandered  from  ball  to  lookers  on. 
He  seldom  missed  either  ball  or  audience,  for  he  was 
a  really  good  player  at  this  fashionable  game,  which 
is  engaged  in  more  often  by  those  who  don't  care  for 
it,  than  by  those  who  love  it  for  the  healthful  exer 
cise  it  gives.  Whoever  he  was,  he  was  a  masterful 
success  of  his  kind, — one  of  those  refined  and  pol 
ished  gentlemen,  who  are  gentlemen  always  and  some- 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  105 

times  something  better,  the  kind  some  kinds  of  women 
run  after,  adulate,  and  adore.  But  to  nobody  else 
does  this  counterfeit  of  manliness  appeal  in  any 
other  way  than  in  the  creation  of  a  terrible  thirst 
for  the  real  thing. 

"  Who  is  he?  "  I  asked  of  a  slender  slip  of  a  girl 
who  stood  near  me.  Evidently  she  didn't  resent  my 
intrusion. 

"  He,"  she  replied,  with  admiration  fairly  bubbling 
from  her  lips,  "  is  Professor  Sweet." 

" What's  he  professor  of?"  I  inquired. 

"Didn't  you  ever  hear  of  Professor  Sweet?"  ex 
claimed  the  girl  in  wonderment. 

"  No." 

"  How  funny ! "  she  lisped.  "  He's  head  of  the 
department  of  physics  at  Cadlift,  and  isn't  he  sweet? 
All  the  girls  just  love  him,  he's  such  a  gentleman. 
And  he's  so  learned !  Why,  at  Hale,"  she  continued, 
"he  was  valedictorian,  and  my  Cousin  Jennie,  who 
lives  there,  says  that  when  he  was  through  speak 
ing  more  than  seventy-five  bouquets  were  thrown  at 
him.  After  he  graduated  from  Hale,  he  went  to 
Hopper  and  took  his  Ph.D.,  and — but  isn't  he  too 
nice  for  anything?  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  not  wishing  to  displease  her,  "  he 
is  certainly  different  from  any  other  professor  I 
have  seen." 

My  informant,  however,  had  not  finished  with  him. 


106  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"He  has  written  a  book,"  she  rattled  on,  after  her 
breath  had  caught  up  with  her.  "It's  on  the 
'  Ethical  Inertia  of  Kinetic  Energy.'  I  just  dote  on 
it.  I  read  a  chapter  of  it  every  day.  Do  you  know," 
she  ran  on,  "  he's  going  to  write  another  book,  which 
hasn't  anything  to  do  with  his  profession,  for,  you 
see,  he's  awfully  talented." 

"  What's  the  subj  ect  of  this  marvelous  literary 
creation  ?  "  I  asked,  because  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
say  something. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,"  she  replied,  "  but  it's 
about  the  sources  of  the  sensations  of  sentiment.  I 
just  can't  wait  for  it  to  be  published." 

"Has  he  done  anything  else?"  I  inquired,  with 
apparent  interest. 

The  girl  looked  at  me,  then  feeling  assured  that  I 
was  in  earnest,  she  replied,  "  Oh,  yes,  sir.  You  ought 
to  see  him  in  his  laboratory,  experimenting  on  the 
reactions  of  molecular  motion.  And  he  says,  the 
professor  does,  that  he's  about  to  discover  how  to 
separate  the  indistinguishable  into  its  component,  or 
resultant,  or  some  other  kind  of,  parts,  and  he's  go 
ing  to  prepare  a  monograph  about  them,  which  will 
make  it  ever  so  easy  for  us  to  recognize  them." 

"  I  perceive,"  I  broke  in,  "  that  you  are  a  college 
girl." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  with  animation.  "Pa 
wanted  me  to  learn  stenography,  so  that  I  could 


THE   KNOCKERS'    CLUB  107 

help  him  at  the  office,  but  Ma  made  him  send  me  to 
college.  I'm  a  junior,"  and  her  face  expressed  her 
pride,  "  and  next  year  I'm  going  to  go  into  his  class. 
Do  you  know,"  and  she  blushed  slightly,  "I  can 
hardly  wait  for  college  to  open." 

Here,  indeed,  in  the  professor,  was  a  curiosity,  a 
product  of  our  academic  factories,  which  can  fill 
a  hollow  head  with  the  essence  of  bottled  learning, 
and  make  an  educational  excuse  out  of  the  thinnest 
brain.  Here  was  a  man  too  effeminate  to  be  a 
woman,  with  enough  real  stuff  in  him  to  learn  about 
the  goods  the  colleges  deal  in,  and  to  come  out  of 
an  academic  tread-mill  professionally  adapted  to  dis 
tribute  the  blossoms  of  the  tree  of  science,  without 
even  having  cut  into  the  solid  trunk  that  grew  them. 

Professor  Sweet  was  a  success,  a  dancing  dandy  of 
a  success.  He  had  dug  just  deep  enough  into  educa 
tional  earth  to  harvest  recognition,  and  fashion's 
universities  were  competing  to  annex  him  to  their 
faculties.  He  was  a  teacher  of  women, — no,  I  have 
too  much  respect  for  women  to  connect  them  with 
only  the  semblance  of  a  man, — a  teacher,  rather,  of 
that  peculiar  sex  which  neither  sex  wants  to  be  re 
sponsible  for.  He  was  a  modern  comber  of  the  sur 
face  of  science,  a  painter  of  the  upper  crust  of  learn 
ing,  which  the  upper  crust  of  society  is  sometimes 
crusted  with. 

Professor  Sweet  supplied  an  ever-increasing  de- 


108  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

mand.  He  had  the  goods  the  people  wanted;  and 
dealers  in  science,  and  art,  and  education,  bowed 
before  his  popularity,  while  commercially  tainted 
faculties  forgot  their  learned  calling,  and,  like  men 
of  money,  grabbed  for  anything  that  would  increase 
the  quantity  of  their  enrollment,  even  if  it  reduced 
the  quality  of  their  reputations. 

Many  of  our  large  institutions  of  learning,  nowa 
days,  are  little  more  than  commercial  enterprises, 
with  society  athletes  in  the  ring,  who  dance,  and 
hop,  and  skip  at  the  snapping  of  the  whip  of  wealth, 
wielded  by  a  master  hand,  sometimes  called  a  presi 
dent,  who  knows  how  to  pack  his  dormitories. 

The  professor  won  every  game  he  played.  Walt 
watched  him  with  increasing  interest.  At  the  close 
of  the  eighth  round  of  success,  he  stepped  up  to  him 
and  remarked,  "  You  play  a  fine  game,  Professor." 

"  Yes,"  drawled  the  insipid  recipient  of  Walt's  at 
tention.  "It  is  my  favorite  pastime.  I  hardly 
know  what  I  would  do  without  tennis.  My  close  con 
finement  to  the  laboratory  makes  it  pre-eminently  es 
sential  that  I  relax  at  times." 

"  I  used  to  swing  a  racket  myself,"  said  Walt. 
"  Will  you  try  a  game  with  me  ?  " 

"I  would  be  delighted  to,"  replied  the  professor 
cordially. 

They  started  in. 

The  reader  expects  me  to  relate  how  Walt  figura- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  109 

tively  swept  the  ground  with  his  opponent,  how  he 
walloped  him  at  every  play.  But  he  didn't.  The 
professor  won  with  so  much  ease  that  most  of  us 
forgot  that  he  had  any  one  playing  against  him.  I 
am  sorry,  indeed,  that  I  can't  make  a  different 
record,  but  my  imagination,  pliable  as  it  is,  couldn't 
stand  the  pressure  which  would  have  to  be  put  upon 
it,  if  I  had  challenged  it  to  conceive  of  Walt,  with 
his  disconnected  joints  and  out-of-plumb  body,  win 
ning  anything  in  the  way  of  an  athletic  contest. 


CHAPTER  XX 

WE  returned  to  the  house,  found  a  secluded 
nook  on  the  upper  piazza,  and  began  our 
usual  game  of  conversation,  which  had  lagged  some 
what  on  account  of  the  counteracting  influences 
which  had  beset  us. 

"  Arch,"  said  Walt,  after  six  freshly  filled  pipes, 
like  six  lively  chimneys,  were  screening  us  from  the 
outer  world,  "  have  you  read  the  article  on  '  The 
Cause  and  Effect  of  Humor,'  which  appeared  in  the 
current  issue  of  the  'Optimistic  Magazine'?" 

"  I  have,"  replied  Arch,  with  interest. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"I  differ  somewhat  from  what  the  writer  says. 
He  is  rather  superficial,  and  does  not  approach  with 
any  closeness  to  the  source  of  his  subject.  Humor 
is  not,  as  he  says,  a  material  substance,  but  is  rather 
a  reflex  action,  springing  primarily  from  what  I  may 
unscientifically  call  the  existence  of  attack.  The 
punster  and  joker,  often  without  knowing  it,  liter 
ally  create  a  surprise,  which  is  a  sort  of  attack  upon 
their  hearers  or  readers." 

"Hold!"  interrupted  Don.     "You  say  that  he 

springs  a  surprise,  takes  you  off  your  hinges.     Is 

110 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  111 

that  what  Joe  does  when  he  slings  his  second-hand 
stuff  at  us?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Arch  soberly.  "  Joe's  remarks  are 
not  jokes.  They  are  simple,  far-fetched  attempts  at 
farther-away  humor.  We  unavoidably  anticipate 
what  he  is  going  to  say." 

I  kept  still;  and  Arch  looked  surprised,  for  keep 
ing  still  on  my  part  was  never  comprehended  by  Arch 
in  his  philosophy. 

"  Let  me  continue,"  said  Arch.  "  Humor  is  the 
collation  of  gathered  incidents,  sometimes  true,  but 
usually  exaggerated,  which,  when  presented  at  the 
opportune  time,  so  attack  the  hearer  that  he  can't 
avoid  a  retaliating  action  or  reaction,  which  usually 
manifests  itself  in  what  you  laymen  call  a  smile,  or 
may  be  extended  into  one  of  those  unpreventable  out 
bursts  commonly  known  as  laughter." 

"That  is,  a  joke  isn't  a  joke  if  nobody  laughs  at 
it?"  interrogated  Tom. 

"  Tom,"  replied  Arch,  "  you  have  unintentionally 
propounded  a  sensible  question,  and  I  welcome  it. 
The  reaction  or  proper  resentment  at  the  receipt  of 
a  joke  produces  a  response  which  is  discernible  only 
when  the  receiver  manifests  the  impulse  given  him 
by  some  sign  which  is  commonly  known  as  a  smile  or 
laughter.  But  this  outward  appearance  of  reaction 
may  not  be  considered  as  scientific  proof  that  the 
cause  of  it  is  allied  with  humor.  I  have  often  laughed 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

at  your  attempt  at  punning.  Yet  I  am  convinced 
that  my  reaction  was  not  because  of  any  humor  con 
tained  in  what  you  said." 

Tom  opened  his  mouth. 

"We  will  postpone  any  comment,  for  the  pres 
ent,"  said  Arch  decidedly,  as  he  looked  at  Tom. 

Tom  reloaded  his  corncob,  and  smoked  in 
silence. 

"  Conversely,"  continued  Arch,  "  a  remark  may 
be  freighted  with  real  humor,  and  yet  its  hearers 
may,  for  obvious  reasons,  refuse  to  react;  or  it  is 
supposable  that  they  may,  for  equally  good  rea 
sons,  suppress  any  outward  manifestation  of  having 
recognized  or  received  the  attack." 

"  That  accounts  for  it,"  said  Tom  drily. 

"  For  what?  "  inquired  Arch. 

"  For  the  reason  that  we  don't  respond  to  some 
of  the  things  you  say." 

"  You  are  irrelevant,"  growled  Arch.  "  Can't  you 
keep  still  once  a  year,  and  try  to  learn  something? 
If  I  should  begin  now  to  fill  you  up,  and  should  keep 
at  it  for  six  months,  and  you  took  in  all  I  said, 
there  would  still  remain  an  emptiness  inside  your 
skull." 

"  Guess  you're  right,"  replied  Tom,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  which  fortunately  Arch  didn't  see. 

"  Humor,  then,"  Arch  resumed,  "  is  something 
seen  or  heard,  or  both,  which  takes  you  unawares." 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  113 

"You  bet  it  would,"  snapped  Tom.  "If  you'd 
ever  say  anything  funny,  you'd  take  us  unawares." 

"  Tom,"  burst  out  Arch,  "  can't  you  keep  shut 
up  for  ten  minutes?  You  needn't  listen,  if  you  don't 
want  to;  "you  haven't  any  right  to  interfere  with 
the  pleasures  of  others." 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  asked  Walt  soberly. 

"  Or  me?  "  queried  the  Professor. 

"  Or  me?  "  interjected  Don. 

"  Or  me  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No ! "  snapped  Arch,  as  he  folded  up  his  mouth. 

"  Come,  Arch,"  said  Tom,  "  don't  be  so  confound 
edly  sensitive.  Maybe  there's  something  to  what  you 
say,  because  once  in  a  while  you  manage  to  let  go 
a  word  or  two,  which  most  likely  isn't  yours,  and 
so,  maybe,  is  worth  listening  to.  As  I  understand 
your  philosophy,  Arch,  a  joke  isn't  a  joke,  and 
humor  isn't  humor,  unless  it  produces  an  attack; 
and  if  there's  nobody  attacked,  that  is,  if  there's  no 
body  to  attack,  then  the  humor  that  might  have 
been,  isn't." 

"  Go  on  with  your  fool  talk,"  interrupted  Arch. 
"  It  isn't  impossible  for  you  to  say  something,  if  you 
keep  on  long  enugh." 

"  Supper  is  served  in  two  hours,"  I  remarked. 

"  Hardly  time  enough  for  me  to  say  anything," 
said  Tom  soberly.  "  But  I  just  wanted  to  bring  out 
this  point.  If,  as  Arch  says,  this  particular  some- 


114  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

thing  called  humor  isn't  humor  unless  it  gets  at 
something,  then  I  see  light  through  a  problem  which 
has  always  puzzled  me.  An  old  instructor  I  had, 
when  I  was  at  a  mixed  school  in  Danbury,  used  to 
claim  that  there  wasn't  any  such  thing  as  sound, 
unless  there  was  somebody  to  hear  it  when  it  was 
working.  He  said  that  thunder,  in  the  uninhabited 
desert,  wasn't  thunder  by  a  thundering  sight,  unless 
its  aerial  waves,  or  some  other  kind  of  waves,  struck 
the  membranes  of  the  drums  in  somebody's  or  some 
thing's  ear,  and  if  there  didn't  happen  to  be  about 
any  eardrums  with  membranes,  or  any  membranes 
which  were  up  to  the  scratch,  then  the  noise  of  the 
thunder  didn't  make  any  noise,  and  as  thunder  is  all 
noise,  it  didn't  thunder  when  it  thundered.  So  if 
this  old  fellow  was  right,  Arch  hits  it  in  the  neck 
when  he  says  that  there  isn't  any  humor  unless  there's 
some  fool  hanging  round  who  gets  hold  of  enough  of 
that  humor  to  imagine  that  it's  humorous." 

Arch  collapsed.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  strength 
of  one  of  Tom's  cigars,  which  he  handed  him,  the 
poor  fellow  couldn't  have  walked  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"1  \  7E  were  on  our  way  to  the  forests,  which  were 
»  •  trackless  until  their  tracklessness  was  cata 
logued  in  railroad  time  tables,  illustrated  in  guide 
books,  and  blazoned  upon  the  dead  walls,  which  the 
inartistic  American  gladly  contributes  to  the  com 
mercial  desecrator  of  Nature,  who  would  sell  the  walls 
of  his  soul  to  breakfast-food  bakers  and  soap  makers, 
if  they  were  big  enough  for  the  plasters  of  advertis 
ing  to  stick  upon  them. 

We  had  sufficient  sense  to  engage  a  guide  with  a 
license  bigger  than  he  was.  He  looked  the  part  he 
was  to  play, — tall  and  lank,  yet  with  a  physical  de 
velopment  and  a  hardiness  which  appear  upon  the 
paper  pages  of  the  prospectuses  of  our  physical  cul 
ture  schools,  that  guarantee  to  make  giants  out  of 
pigmies,  and  to  grow  athletes  from  stalks  too  with 
ered  to  fill  out  a  custom-made  undershirt. 

(For  further  description  of  this  navigator  of  hill, 
mountain,  forest,  lake,  and  river,  the  reader  is  re 
spectfully  referred  to  the  doctored  pictures  of  him, 
and  the  long-distance  descriptions  of  him,  never 
absent  from  the  sportive  novel,  or  from  the  wonder 
fully  and  fearfully  made  handbooks,  created  out  of 

115 


116  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

journalistic  minds,  which  write  fully  and  volumiously 
of  things  unseen  by  them  and  usually  unkenned  al 
together.) 

Each  of  us  carried  a  pack  instead  of  a  traveling 
bag,  because  the  latter  would  have  been  easier  to  lug. 
But  were  we  not  to  be  trampers  of  the  woods,  dis 
turbers  of  the  underbrush,  and  avoiders  of  the  foot- 
easy  paths,  which  paralleled  the  ways  we  had  to 
tramp  out  for  ourselves  for  the  sake  of  sentiment. 

Far  be  it  from  us  to  outrage  sacred  sediment,  to 
depart  from  convention's  custom,  to  assume  the  right 
to  do  as  we  pleased,  when  it  pleased  us  to  do  the 
things  which  wouldn't  be  pleasing  to  any  other  than 
an  idiotic  summerer.  The  unwritten  law  of  scheduled 
recreation  had  placed  its  stamp  upon  the  pack,  and 
we  would  carry  these  laundry-like  bundles  if  every 
foot  of  the  way  was  to  be  watered  by  the  sweat  of 
our  foolhardiness. 

I  said  that  all  of  us  carried  packs.  I  forgot 
Arch  and  the  Professor.  They  were  packless. 
Arch  wore  two  sets  of  underwear,  that  he  might  be 
instantaneously  prepared  for  a  ready  change,  and 
upon  his  back  were  strapped  adjustable  shelves, 
curved  to  fit  into  a  sort  of  jacket,  and  filled  with 
more  than  a  dozen  books  with  weighty  contents. 

The  Professor  was  shingled  with  a  coat  of  many 
pockets,  each  numbered  to  correspond  with  an  in 
dex,  which,  that  it  might  be  an  every-ready  refer- 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  117 

ence,  was  the  sole  occupant  of  his  watch  pocket,  and 
the  flap  of  this  pocket  was  stamped  with  a  double 
"  X,"  that  he  might  recognize  it  by  eye  as  well  as  by 
feeling,  and  not  have  to  search  from  No.  1  to  No. 
99  when  he  wanted  to  find  something. 

The  other  pockets  were  tagged  with  numerals,  a 
third  of  them  in  red,  which  contained  his  personal 
effects,  and  the  others  marked  in  black,  and  filled 
with  books,  chemicals,  tools  of  the  laboratory,  well- 
packed  crucibles,  and  other  paraphernalia,  which 
it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for  him  to  use  in  the 
woods. 

He  was  a  portable  library  and  laboratory  on  legs. 
Something  hung  from  every  projecting  part  of  him. 
An  antiseptic  toothbrush  rested  on  one  ear,  and  a 
safety  razor  dangled  as  a  pendant  from  the  lobe 
of  the  other. 

We  left  the  steamer  at  a  wood-landing  situated 
in  a  tree-shaded  cove.  A  natty  little  motor  boat 
was  in  waiting,  announced  to  churn  through  the 
distance  separating  us  from  the  real,  genuine  wild 
erness  in  an  hour  and  a  half. 

Did  we  take  it?  Certainly  not.  Would  any 
self-respecting  tramper  sit  on  leather  cushions,  and 
allow  civilized  gasoline  to  convey  him  into  the  midst 
of  unraked  Nature?  No,  ten  thousand  times  no! 
We  were  temporarily  done  with  any  thing  or  in 
strument  that  could,  by  the  exercise  of  a  superlative 


118  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

imagination,  be  conceived  to  represent  the  slightest 
semblance  of  comfort. 

Our  guide  procured  four  canoes,  one  for  each 
couple  of  us,  he  to  occupy  the  fourth  with  our  packs, 
and  to  tow  Arch's  and  the  Professor's  overloads  in 
waterproof  bags.  Half  of  us,  who  had  had  canoe 
experience  on  the  raging  Charles  River,  because  of 
this  competency,  were  to  become  canoe  captains, 
the  other  fellow  to  acts  as  crew  or  ballast.  I  took 
Tom  in  mine. 

"  Sit  there,"  I  commanded,  "  and  don't  you  dare 
stir  until  I  give  you  permission." 

Tom  squatted  in  the  forward  end,  while  I,  in  the 
other,  which  may  have  been  the  bow  and  may  have 
been  the  stern,  paddled  and  steered. 

Once,  in  a  moment  of  temporary  aberration, 
I  suggested  to  Tom  that  he  assist  in  the  propul 
sion. 

"  All  right,"  he  replied  cheerily.  "  Give  me  one 
of  your  butter  pats,  and  I'll  send  you  flying." 

I  pushed  a  paddle  toward  him.  He  made  a  grab 
for  it,  and  would  have  pitched  both  of  us  into  the 
stream,  if  I  hadn't  kicked  his  outrigging  foot  into 
center. 

I  wish  I  had  had  a  moving  picture  camera  with 
me.  I  could  have  made  a  fortune  with  the  film. 
Tom  handled  that  paddle  as  he  would  a  spoon.  He 
dipped  it  into  the  water,  edges  always  pointing 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  119 

fore  and  aft,  and  pulled  at  it  with  all  his  strength 
when  it  was  in  the  air. 

After  he  had  splashed  a  barrel  or  two  of  water 
over  us,  I  remarked,  "  Let  up,  Tom.  You're  as  use 
less  as  a  wheel  to  a  sleigh.  I'd  rather  do  all  the 
work  than  watch  your  antics." 

Tom  didn't  even  smile.  He  dropped  his  paddle, 
stretched  out  lazily,  closed  his  eyes,  and  entered 
the  land  where  water  does  not  flow,  and  where  there 
are  no  shores  to  paddle  to. 

Somehow  I  seemed  to  fall  behind  the  others.  My 
renewed  exertions  didn't  seem  to  help  much.  J 
looked  for  the  cause  and  found  it.  I  rapped  Tom 
on  the  foot  with  my  paddle.  He  awoke  with  a  start. 

"  Take  in  your  feet,  you  fool,"  I  called  out. 
"Do  you  suppose  I  can  push  this  blamed  craft 
through  the  water  with  the  broadness  of  your  soles 
set  up  against  the  wind?" 

Tom  obeyed  sleepily.  I  paddled  along,  and  soon 
was  abreast  of  my  companions.  Walt  had  given 
Arch  his  first  lesson  in  canoeing,  and  he  was  whack 
ing  the  paddle  against  the  water  without  materially 
retarding  the  speed  of  the  canoe. 

"  Dip  a  little  deeper,"  I  heard  Walt  say. 

"  Into  what  ?  "  inquired  Arch  innocently. 

"Into  the  water,"  yelled  Walt.  "Do  you  take 
this  for  a  flying  machine?" 

Don  was  in  command  of  the  Professor.    With  his 


120  THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

umbrella  up,  the  Professor  was  totally  oblivious  of 
his  surroundings.  His  eyes  were  riveted  to  the 
pages  of  one  of  those  scientific  treatises,  which  one 
has  to  look  at  seven  times  before  he  can  understand 
the  obtuse  meaning  of  the  first  line  upon  the  first 
page.  I  could  see  that  Don's  serenity  was  under 
strain.  It  was  hard  paddling  at  best,  and  the  Pro 
fessor's  umbrella  made  matters  worse. 

Don's  canoe  was  passing  close  to  the  shore.  The 
trees  lined  the  banks,  and  one  in  particular  almost 
swept  the  water  with  its  lower  branches.  Don 
dexterously  gave  his  canoe  a  turn,  increased  its 
speed,  and  the  Professor's  umbrella  was  hanging  to 
the  branches. 

The  Professor  didn't  make  a  grab  for  it, — he 
didn't  even  miss  it.  He  was  way  off,  in  bookland, 
where  umbrellas  do  not  grow. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  CCOMPANIED  by  seventeen  million  flies  and 
•**•  their  relatives,  divided  into  working  squads  of 
sufficient  number  to  give  personal  attention  to  each 
of  us,  we  arrived  at  one  of  those  camps  which  in 
habit  the  inlets  of  the  lake.  Here,  bolstered  up  by 
huge  trees,  was  a  log  cabin,  which  may  have  re 
sembled  the  dwelling  places  of  my  ancestors,  but  as 
my  ancestors  and  I  weren't  on  visiting  terms,  I'm 
not  able  to  give  you  comparative  data. 

The  cabin  consisted  of  one  room,  with  a  floor 
made  up  of  alternate  inlays  of  aged  boards  and 
hardened  earth;  a  table  in  the  middle,  half  a  dozen 
ready-to-descend  shelves  on  one  side,  and  several 
stretchers  huddled  together  and  covered  up  by 
boughs  of  evergreens,  which  held  their  greeness  with 
a  tenacity  not  outgeneraled  by  an  advertised  paint. 
A  few  cracked  dishes,  and  some  leaky  saucepans, 
kettles,  and  dippers,  decorated  the  walls,  or  hung  in 
front  of  a  stoned-up  fire  escape,  called  fireplace  by 
courtesy. 

We  dumped  our  packs  upon  the  floor,  Arch  and 
the  Professor  unloaded,  and  as  true  economists  and 

devotees  of  modern  efficiency,  we  took  turns   con- 

121 


122  THE   KNOCKERS'  CLUB 

vincing  the  flies  and  their  subordinates  that  the  less 
they  lived  upon  us  the  longer  some  of  them  would 
live. 

George,  the  guide,  at  once  set  about  collecting 
underbrush  and  larger  wood,  and  shortly  had  a  fire 
roaring  under  a  kettle  of  water  and  a  tin  can  of 
coffee.  He  opened  the  packs,  and  from  out  of  them 
he  pulled  the  city-canned  food  that  woodmen  eat, — 
beans  from  Pittsburgh,  which  double-discount  the 
Boston  product,  because  Pittsburgh  is  at  a  sufficient 
distance  from  the  Bureau  of  Beans  to  keep  the  flavor 
of  counterfeit  culture  out  of  the  can;  condensed 
milk,  fresh  from  the  vacuum  pans;  and  green  peas, 
greened  in  the  tin;  and  crackers  a  little  wilted,  but 
still  in  the  ring;  and  butter,  which  ran  merrily  over 
our  bread ;  and  coffee  of  a  strength  sufficient  to  stop 
the  leaks  in  the  can  it  was  made  in. 

Upon  the  rough  table,  clothless  and  dusted  with 
the  end  of  a  burlap  bag,  he  dumped,  not  set,  enough 
to  feed  a  caravan.  We  waited  not  upon  the  order 
of  our  beginning,  but  fairly  swooped  down  upon  the 
eatables,  and  swallowed  them  as  though  each  bean 
was  a  piece  of  terrapin,  and  each  cracker  the  breast 
of  a  club  partridge.  We  forgot  our  manners,  and 
sometimes  our  forks.  Each  hand  fought  with  its 
neighbor,  as  we  grabbed  for  everything  that  mouth 
could  close  upon  or  teeth  cut  asunder. 

Don  pushed  the  food  into  himself  at  lunch-counter 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  123 

speed.  His  hands  worked  like  the  buckets  of  a  grain 
elevator,  and  his  mouth  opened  and  shut  with  the 
rapidity  of  the  piston  of  a  racing  motor. 

"  Don,"  said  Tom,  between  his  swallowings, 
"  doesn't  it  occur  to  you  that  the  rest  of  us  have 
some  ownership  in  the  grub?  You've  got  outside  of 
a  can  of  beans,  two  boxes  of  sardines,  a  loaf  of  bread, 
a  pound  of  crackers,  and  a  gallon  of  coffee.  I  move, 
boys,"  and  he  turned  to  the  crowd,  "  that  hereafter 
we  weigh  out  what  we  give  Don,  and  limit  him  to 
five  pounds  of  solids,  and  a  half  gallon  of  liquid." 

There  were  reasons  why  Don  didn't  reply.  Walt 
was  equally  busy.  The  Professor  gave  science  a 
respite,  and  was  but  a  pound  and  a  half  below  the 
average;  while  Arch, — but  let  me  draw  the  curtain. 
He  had  arranged  his  food  in  a  sort  of  train,  and  let 
it  run  into  his  mouth  without  a  stop  save  for  tak 
ing  water. 

We  and  the  food  fortunately  gave  out  together. 
Like  overfed  cattle  (I  would  use  a  more  appropriate 
term  if  it  were  not  for  that  murderer  of  effective 
English,  the  publisher's  editor,  of  hair-trigger 
nicety,  who  prematurely  goes  off  at  the  pressure  of 
a  forcible  word),  we  leaned  back  against  the  wall, 
and  slowly  filled  our  pipes. 

"  See  here,"  said  the  guide,  and  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  rear  of  his  voice  that  made  us  start, 
"  it's  time  yer  got  to  business.  Do  you  fellows  think 


124  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

that  I'm  goin'  to  cook  yer,  feed  yer,  and  clean  up 
after  yer?  Some  of  yer  fall  to,  and  get  the  mighty 
little  that's  left  off  the  table,  and  souse  the  plates 
in  the  tub  outside.  Do  yer  hear?" 

"Boys,"  said  the  Professor,  "I  concur  with  the 
words  spoken  by  our  guiding  friend.  But  I  do  not 
favor  a  conglomerate  endeavor  to  obey  his  reason 
able  demands.  Let  us  here,  as  elsewhere,  practice 
the  efficiency  methods,  so  successfully  worked  out  by 
Smaller  and  others,  who  have  made  one  hand  oc- 
complish  a  net  result  which  would  hardly  seem  to 
be  within  the  capacity  of  both  hands  working  in 
unison." 

"  What  are  yer  gettin'  at  ?  "  interrupted  Tom, 
while  the  guide  stood  at  attention,  with  a  look  upon 
his  face,  which,  with  a  little  more  provocation, 
would  have  manifested  itself  in  more  than  vocal  ex 
pression. 

"  Wait,"  continued  the  Professor.  "  While  we 
are  temporarily  without  the  boundary  lines  of  what 
is  generally  called  civilization,  and  while  we  are,  for 
the  time  being,  not  necessarily  subservient  to  the 
peremptory  dictates  of  science,  and  while  it  is  not 
obligatory  on  our  part  to  subordinate  ourselves  to 
the  rules  and  regulations  laid  down  by  society,  we 
should  not  so  far  remove  ourselves  from  our  former 
environment,  or  rather  from  the  reminiscence  of  our 
quite  recent  past,  as  to  proceed  in  a  manner  wholly 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  125 

inconsistent  with  a  proper  respect  for  systematic 
and  labor-saving  action,  and " 

Just  then  a  chunk  of  bread,  thrown  with  unerring 
aim  by  Walt,  collided  with  the  Professor's  open 
mouth,  and  dammed  the  outflow. 

We  fell  upon  the  dishes. 

"  Say,  be  careful,"  yelled  the  guide,  "  if  yer  break 
them  plates,  yer'll  have  to  eat  off  o'  boards ! " 

We  realized  the  full  significance  of  the  danger. 
Don  carefully  grabbed  a  plate  and  held  it  in  his  vise- 
like  grip,  while  Tom  wiped  it  with  the  end  of  a 
rag.  Arch  grappled  with  the  kettles  and  pans, 
and  was  careful  not  to  scour  through  their  rusty 
bottoms. 

"  Now,"  said  the  guide,  "  after  some  of  yer  have 
got  in  a  cord  or  two  of  wood,  yer  can  do  as  yer 
please." 

Arch  was  beginning  to  show  indignation. 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  Walt,  with  emphasis.  "  We're 
in  for  it.  One  guide,  even  if  he  is  too  cussed  dom 
ineering,  is  worth  a  cageful  of  psychologists.  He's 
boss,  and  what  he  says  goes." 

After  the  wood-hauling,  we  spread  ourselves  like 
tired  dogs  upon  the  pine-needled  lawn  in  front  of 
the  cabin,  and  watched  the  smoke  sift  itself  among 
the  trees. 

"Come  here,  Tom,"  shouted  Arch,  "and  blow 
some  of  your  germ-destroying  tobacco  into  this 


126  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

bunch  of  mosquitoes.  They  seem  to  like  the  stuff 
I'm  smoking." 

"Arch,"  replied  Tom  quietly,  "if  you'd  use  real 
tobacco,  maybe  the  insects  would  know  you  were 
smoking." 

Even  Tom's  wit  was  not  bright  enough  to  start 
a  fire  of  conversation.  We  sat  there,  each  too  logy 
to  be  dissatisfied  with  himself,  puffing  away  at  our 
pipes,  making  no  effort  to  interfere  with  each  other, 
or  to  try  to  light  up  the  falling  shadows  with  the 
brilliancy  of  talk. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

UPON  beds  of  evergreens,  which,  had  we  been 
at  home,  would  have  felt  like  gridirons,  we 
slept  without  a  dream  or  snore. 

At  six  o'clock  the  guide  pulled  us  out  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Time  to  get  a  move  on,"  he  said,  "  if  yer  want 
any  breakfast.  This  'ere  boarding  house  don't  keep 
table  waitin'.  This  ain't  no  hotel  with  meals  when 
yer  get  ready  to  eat  'em." 

Half-asleep,  we  plunged  into  the  water,  and  awoke 
when  its  iciness  surrounded  us. 

"What  do  yer  do  that  for?"  growled  the  guide, 
for  our  morning  bath  delayed  us  a  quarter  of  an 
hour. 

"  Why,  my  friend,"  replied  Arch  seriously,  "  we 
never  breakfast  until  we  have  taken  our  morning 
ablutions." 

"Take  yer  what?"  exclaimed  the  guide.  "I 
didn't  see  yer  do  anything  'cept  flop  into  the  water." 

"  George,"  interrupted  Walt  soberly,  "  ablution 
is  a  term  vouchsafed  by  educated  ignoramuses  who 
delight  to  indulge  in  high-faluting  expressions. 

Freely  translated  '  ablution  '  means  a  bath,  a  cleans- 

127 


128  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

ing  of  the  body  from  the  impurities  which  are  ex 
haled  through  the  cuticle,  and  which  gather  upon  it 
from  the  dust-laden  air." 

"  Yer  don't  say ! "  remarked  the  guide,  and  stood 
staring  curiously  at  him,  until,  as  Walt  turned  away, 
he  nudged  Don  and,  jerking  his  thumb  in  Arch's 
direction,  asked,  "  Is  that  man  an  *  educated  ignor 
amus  '?  " 

"  He  is,"  replied  Don. 

"  Well,  he  looks  it,"  replied  the  guide  sententiously. 
*'  Does  it  hurt  him  to  be  that  way  ?  " 

'  No,"  said  Don,  "  his  idiosyncrasies  don't  cause 
any  suffering  on  his  part.  But,"  he  added,  "  they 
are  liable  to  be  painful  to  those  about  him." 

"Catchin'?" 

"  No,  George,"  answered  Don,  "  not  if  you  don't 
get  too  close  to  him." 

"  Can't  yer  do  nothin'  for  him?  " 

"  We've  tried  about  everything,"  replied  Don,  and 
nothing  seems  to  be  effective  except  an  application  of 
what  is  known  as  wooden  massage." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  club,"  remarked  Don,  as  he  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  guide  was  the  only  one  of  us  with  a  gun. 
We  were  vegetarian  sportsmen, — not  shooters 
of  meat  or  drawers  of  blood.  We  would  hunt  with 
eye  and  camera,  not  waste  powder  and  shot  upon 
the  empty  air,  with  a  chance,  if  accident  sighted  our 
rifles,  of  maiming  the  denizens  of  the  forest,  who, 
by  priority  of  residence,  had  a  better  title  to  the 
land  than  we  had. 

We  were  not  warriors  of  the  woods,  members  of 
that  band  of  braves,  who,  at  the  safe  end  of  a  rifle, 
wage  a  one-sided  battle  against  the  aborigines  of  the 
forests. 

I  know  that  I  am  dense,  that  my  comprehension 
has  a  limited  horizon;  but  somehow  I  cannot  see 
what  is  sportsmanlike,  what  is  heroic,  what  can  pos 
sibly  appeal  to  other  than  the  lower  impulses,  in 
killing  for  the  sake  of  the  excitement  of  it,  in  maim 
ing  and  crippling,  which  many  times  more  often 
occur  than  the  quick  death  of  the  creatures  shot 
at.  Neither  can  I  see  that  the  "  for  food  "  excuse 
has  many  rights  which  a  decent  man  should  respect. 
If  the  amateur  would  kill  for  food  alone,  and  if  he 
carried  into  the  woods  the  humanity  of  his  home, 

129 


130  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

would  he  not  let  the  guide  do  the  killing,  for  the 
guide,  most  likely,  is  a  good  marksman? 

In  my  house  hang  no  pictures  of  accidentally  hit 
deer  and  other  animals.  Instead,  are  the  photo 
graphs  caught  in  my  camera  trap,  which  does  not 
hurt.  I  carry  to  my  library  pictured  counterparts 
of  birds  and  game  as  they  live, — not  views  of  sus 
pended  carcasses,  which  look  like  interiors  of  slaugh 
ter  houses. 

We  came  into  the  woods  to  rest,  not  to  play  a 
game  of  recreation  more  strenuous  than  the  work 
of  our  livelihood-making.  We  would  get  close  to 
Nature's  center,  sleep  upon  it,  and  from  out  of  the 
ground  absorb  the  tonic  of  the  woods.  There  was 
just  enough  to  do  to  keep  us  in  good  form,  and  give 
us  appetites  which  wouldn't  shy  at  dirt  or  bugs. 

We  ate,  and  slept,  and  thought, — and  cut  out 
thinking  half  of  the  time.  We  tramped  up  to  the 
very  heart  of  Nature,  and  beside  her  closed  our  eyes 
at  the  symphony  of  the  rustling  trees,  which  play 
a  music  more  pleasing  to  the  natural  ear  than  the 
toot  of  orchestra  horn  or  the  trained  screech  of 
prima  donna. 

Except  during  the  twilight  hour,  when  we  talked, 
and  fought,  and  settled  the  vexed  questions  of  the 
day, — each,  however,  in  a  different  way, — we  com 
pletely  relaxed.  Don  forgot  his  money,  Tom  was 
too  lazy  to  put  a  chip  on  his  own  shoulder,  Walt 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  131 

didn't  even  try  to  be  funny  (and  consequently  was), 
the  Professor  looked  at  the  covers  of  his  portable  li 
brary  and  was  content,  while  Arch  actually  stopped 
reasoning  with  himself  and  would  swat  a  social  fly 
without  thinking  why  he  did  it. 

When  evening  began  to  fall,  however,  and  we  had 
washed  the  dishes  and  pitch-forked  the  beds  into 
shape,  we  shook  off  our  lethargy,  allowed  ourselves 
to  wrangle  and  quarrel,  that  we  might  not  become  so 
impregnated  with  the  essence  of  Nature  as  to  be  un 
able  to  re-adjust  ourselves  when  we  returned  to  the 
scramble  of  society  and  science. 

Think  of  it!  Six  Bostonians,  partly  recovered 
from  the  attacks  of  culture,  actually  getting  down 
to  a  common  earth,  eating  off  a  common  table,  drink 
ing  out  of  a  common  dipper,  sleeping  side  by  side 
without  exchanging  nightmares, — boys  again,  real 
boys! 

We  were  irregularly  spread  out  in  front  of  the 
cabin,  silently  and  placidly  smoking  our  pipes,  each 
one  of  us  waiting  for  some  other  one  to  accumulate 
animation  enough  to  start  something. 

I  said,  all  were  smoking  our  pipes.  Let  me  re 
tract  one-seventh  of  my  statement.  Arch's  mouth 
was  free  and  clear.  Lazily  I  gazed  at  him  in  un 
spoken  amazement.  Arch,  the  long-distance  smoker 
of  us  all,  with  only  his  breath  coming  out  of  his 
mouth!  What  was  the  matter?  Half  unconsciously 


132  THE    KNOCKERS'  CLUB 

I  tried  to  unravel  the  riddle,  then  gave  it  up,  and 
waited  for  time  to  act  as  its  solver. 

Inanimate  Arch  began  to  become  animated.  To 
the  naked  eye  it  looked  as  though  he  was  doing  some 
thing  or  about  to  do  something.  His  actions  cer 
tainly  were  suspicious.  Evidently  he  was  desirous 
of  absenting  himself.  He  got  up,  then  sat  down 
again,  and  repeated  the  process  nine  times.  He  be 
gan  to  fumble  in  his  pockets.  He  withdrew  his  hand 
empty,  looked  around,  then  put  his  hand  back  into 
a  pocket,  thought  better  of  it  and  withdrew  it,  and 
tried  it  again.  Then,  screwing  his  courage  up  to  the 
sticking  point,  he  withdrew  his  hand.  Alas!  this 
time  it  wasn't  empty.  His  fingers  firmly  grasped, — 
but  let  me  pause  and  ponder. 

Shall  I  place  the  mark  of  un-live-out-able  dis 
grace  upon  his  brow,  and  brand  him  forever  with 
the  insignia  of  inexcusable  folly?  No,  I  will  be 
merciful.  Sometime  Arch  may  double  up,  and  a 
family  spring  about  him.  Is  it  fair,  I  ask,  is  it  gen 
erous,  is  it  humane,  is  it  charitable,  to  dash  a  pre 
natal  blot  upon  a  possible  posterity?  It  is  not! 

But  wait.  What  of  duty?  Am  I  not  bound  to 
fire  the  facts,  let  them  strike  where  they  will?  With 
beseeching  charity  before  me,  and  drastic  duty  be 
hind  me,  I  will  obey  the  dictates  of  my  higher  self, 
and  tell  the  truth,  the  whole,  dreadful  truth,  though 
it  forever  relegates  Arch  to  a  plane  where  only  a 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  133 

special  miracle  could  hope  to  boost  him  up  to  the 
level  of  legal  decency. 

In  Arch's  hand  was — a  package  of  cigarettes. 

Aghast  I  sat  as  one  in  a  dream,  while  the  symp 
toms  of  paralysis  coated  my  tongue.  I  couldn't  pull 
the  cords  that  work  the  hinges  of  my  vocal  ma 
chinery. 

Arch,  shamefaced,  and  with  guilt  fairly  oozing 
from  him,  yet  with  a  determined  look,  which,  trans 
lated,  stood  for  a  desire  to  dare  the  world,  placed 
one  of  the  little  white  rolls  between  his  blushing  lips, 
struck  a  match  on  the  sand  of  his  conscience,  and 
began  to  blow  out  rings  of  insipidness. 

Unable  to  utter  a  word,  I  kicked  my  companions, 
and  silently  pointed  to  Arch.  As  one  man,  they  cast 
long,  dwelling  looks  upon  him;  then  Don,  who  al 
ways  grasped  emergency  by  the  neck,  reached  him 
with  a  stride.  With  one  hand  holding  his  handker 
chief  to  his  nose,  that  he  might  not  inhale  the  deadly 
gas,  he  grabbed  him  by  the  throat  and  shook  the 
sense-destroyer  from  his  mouth.  Then  Don  silently 
returned  to  his  place  among  us,  while  Tom  gently 
led  Arch  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  to  assist  him  in 
laving  away  the  discolor  and  odor  of  his  disgrace. 

For  a  while  we  sat  in  silent  contempt,  then  the 
Professor  aroused  himself  sufficiently  to  remark,  "  I 
see  that  Professor  Jettie,  of  Hardhead  College,  is 
investigating  the  textile  industry,  with  a  view  to  es- 


1S4  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

tablishing  a  more  economical  basis  of  inspection, 
which  will  result,  he  avers,  in  considerably  reducing 
the  waste." 

"  Yes,"  I  broke  in,  "  Je.ttie  has  been  in  to  see  me." 

"Did  he  outline  his  scheme  to  you?  "  asked  Walt. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "  he  outlined  several  schemes. 
Jettie  makes  a  specialty  of  outlining." 

"What's  he  up  to  now?"  interrogated  Tom. 

"  He's  going  to  tell  the  weavers  how  to  apply  the 
new  efficiency  ideas  to  making  cotton.  He  says  that 
the  cotton  manufacturers  employ  one  inspector,  or 
a  sort  of  foreman,  to  twelve  operatives,  and  that  no 
one  man,  however  proficient,  can  thoroughly  inspect 
or  superintend  so  many  looms  without  a  large  loss 
in  the  waste  of  imperfect  goods." 

"  How  is  he  going  to  eliminate  this  waste?  "  asked 
Arch  with  interest. 

"  You  tell,"  I  suggested,  turning  to  the  Professor. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  Professor,  "  Jettie  pro 
poses  to  apply  scientific  efficiency  to  ignorant  or 
automatic  labor." 

"  But  the  manufacturers  are  not  ignorant,"  in 
terrupted  Tom.  "  They  are  in  business  for  money, 
and  they  won't  stand  for  avoidable  waste.  Didn't 
it  ever  enter  your  book-crammed  head  that  men  born 
and  trained  in  business  ought  to  know  how  to  do  their 
business  better  than  theoretical  economists  like 
Jettie,  who  can't  drive  a  tack  through  a  carpet  and 


THE   KNOCKERS'    CLUB  135 

hit  the  floor,  and  who  never  rolled  a  string  into  a 
ball,  except  in  their  minds?  " 

"  Tom,"  returned  the  Professor,  "  you  are  one  of 
those  self-inflated  idiots  who  can't  see  beyond  the 
chalk  line  of  convention.  You  are  one  of  those 
fools,  who,  if  left  alone,  would  put  a  rock  in  one 
saddlebag  to  balance  the  grist  in  the  other." 

"  Why  not,"  replied  Tom,  "  if  you've  a  use  for 
the  rock?" 

The  Professor  glared  at  him,  but  resumed. 

"  That's  about  what  the  cotton  maker  will  con 
tinue  to  do  until  some  scientific  economist,  like  Jet- 
tie,  sets  him  straight.  I  tell  you,  boys,  the  aver 
age  business  man  sticks  to  the  past,  automatically 
performs  his  duty,  and  because  his  great  grand 
father  did  a  thing,  considers  it  a  good  reason  why  he 
should  continue  to  do  it  in  the  same  old-fashioned 
way,  and  he  refuses  to  allow  enlightened  science  to 
interfere  for  his  benefit." 

"Let's  get  somewhere,"  I  suggested.  "I  favor 
efficiency  in  the  doing  of  all  things,  but  not  fool  ef 
ficiency.  Let  me  take  hypothetical  figures.  The  in 
spector  gets,  say,  two  dollars  a  day,  and  the  opera 
tor  one  dollar  a  day.  Do  you  follow  me?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  Professor.  "  But  go  on.  We 
may  understand  you  after  a  while." 

I  resumed.  "If  twelve  operatives  receive  a  dol 
lar  a  day  each,  and  one  inspector  receives  two  dol- 


136  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

lars  a  day,  then  the  operating  expense  is  fourteen 
dollars  a  day." 

The  Professor  nodded. 

"  Now,  if  you  have,  say,  six  inspectors,  you  raise 
the  expense  to  twenty-four  dollars  a  day." 

The  Professor  was  thinking. 

"  You  have  then  added  ten  dollars  a  day  to  the 
cost  of  weaving  a  specific  number  of  yards  of  cloth." 

"But  what  about  the  saving  in  waste?"  inter 
jected  the  Professor.  "Six  skillful  inspectors,  in 
stead  of  one,  would  probably  eliminate  a  very  large 
proportion  of  the  poor  work  which  now  results  from 
lack  of  proper  superintendence." 

"  Granted,"  I  replied,  "  but  we  have  to  deal  with 
commercial  economy,  not  purely  scientific  saving, 
and  the  amount  gained  would  be  the  difference  be 
tween  the  waste  under  present  inspection  and  the 
less  waste  with  increased  inspection.  Under  Pro 
fessor  Jettie's  system,  the  waste  would  probably 
be  somewhat  less,  yet  it  would  be  accomplished  with 
a  very  heavy  increase  of  cost.  Where  does  your 
economy  come  in?  " 

The  Professor  strove  to  discover  an  answer,  but 
didn't  find  it.  After  a  long  pause  he  remarked, 
"  But  you  save  the  waste, — make  perfect  goods." 

"  Shucks  !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  You  and  Jettie 
have  got  about  as  much  of  an  idea  of  economy  as 
had  the  amateur  yachtsman,  who  rubber-coated  the 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  137 

bottom  of  his  boat,  at  a  cost  of  a  hundred  dollars  a 
year  to  maintain,  to  keep  out  the  bilge  water,  which 
he  could  pump  out  for  a  dollar  and  half  a  year." 

61  Bright  boy ! "  exclaimed  Walt,  as  he  slapped 
Tom  on  the  back.  "  There  are  times  when  your  un 
trained  sense  is  sharp  enough  to  bore  a  hole  in  the 
armor  of  science." 

"I'm  not  against  any  new  doctrine  that  will  do 
something,"  said  Tom,  "but  before  I  adopt  it,  I 
want  to  try  it  out  on  the  road.  You  scientific-ef 
ficiency  fellows  have  got  theory  on  the  brain,  and 
expect  business  men  to  swallow  it  before  anybody 
knows  what  it's  good  for.  For  plain,  unadulterated, 
unskimmed,  sheer  folly,  give  me  a  professor  with  an 
efficiency  bug  in  his  ear.  Because  he  hears  its  buz 
zing,  he  thinks  all  the  rest  of  the  world  has  the  same 
bug  tickling  it." 

"  But  I  don't  see  any  reason  to  jump  on  Jettie," 
said  Arch.  "  He's  our  leading  exponent  of  the  new 
science  of  efficiency.  Have  you  read  his  book  on 
the  'Elimination  of  the  Illimitable  '?  It's  a  master 
piece  of  scientific  research." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Tom,  "  I've  read  it.  He  starts  in 
at  nowhere,  and  when  he  gets  there,  he  establishes 
a  gaseous  base  in  the  midst  of  chaos,  and  with  that 
as  a  source  of  supplies,  he  branches  out  into  the 
limitless  unknown.  He  assumes  that  the  incoming 
tide  would  have  run  the  other  way,  if  the  laboratory 


138  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

had  taught  it  to  change  its  mind  before  it  began  to 
flow.  On  this  hypothesis  he  calculates  that  the 
drainage  of  the  land  would  naturally  disappear  for 
keeps,  because  there  would  be  no  inflowing  tide  to 
bring  it  back.  But  unfortunately  for  him,  the  tides 
of  water  and  of  business  refuse  to  run  at  his  bidding, 
and  he  gets  swamped." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

,  the  guide,  while  as  independent  as 
the  captain  of  a  yacht-club-registered  catboat, 
and  as  cranky  as  a  hen  on  eggs,  was  a  genius  of 
his  kind,  rough  in  exterior  yet  smooth  inside.  We 
soon  became  very  fond  of  him.  He  attended  to  his 
duty  with  doglike  faithfulness,  made  us  do  our  part 
with  systematic  regularity,  and  all  the  time  was  do 
ing  those  little  things  which  added  much  to  our 
material  comfort. 

He  knew  the  woods  as  a  sailor  knows  the  winds 
and  currents.  His  intuition  was  his  compass,  and 
his  nose  the  needle.  He  guided  us  into  hundreds  of 
nooks  and  corners,  where  Nature  hid  her  choicest 
charms,  and  which  but  for  him  we  would  have  never 
discovered. 

He  had  guided  many  people,  and  could  read  and 
describe  them  in  a  language  more  picturesque  by  far 
than  the  scorched  rhetoric  of  literary  word-painters, 
who  slap  artificial  colors  on  their  pages  until 
Nature's  rainbows  weep  as  they  fade  away. 

He  had  guided  governors  and  grafters,  congress 
men  and  candidates,  mayors  and  ministers,  physi 
cians  and  professors,  captains  of  commerce,  and 

130 


140  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

ladies  of  literature.  Every  class,  every  condition,  of 
men  and  women,  had  followed  him  into  the  forest. 
He  had  seen  them  in  all  their  moods,  was  familiar 
by  contact  with  the  idiosyncrasies  of  every  breed 
which  populates  the  earth.  His  head  was  a  store 
house,  filled  to  the  top  with  experiences,  which,  if  he 
could  have  written  them  out,  would  have  outdis 
tanced  our  marvelous  magazine  literature  in  variety 
of  character-drawing. 

George  was  ninety-nine  per  cent,  man,  an  uncon- 
taminated  product  of  Nature.  The  open  air  had 
given  him  a  hardy  finish,  which  doesn't  always  thrive 
on  the  campus  of  athletic  colleges,  and  the  rains  and 
streams  had  washed  him  into  a  freshness  that  the 
porcelain  tubs  of  wealth  don't  seem  to  impart. 

He  wasn't  altogether  unfamiliar  with  the  insides 
of  books.  He  had  enjoyed  a  high-school  education, 
and  didn't  always  use  the  language  of  the  forest, 
or  rather  the  woody  words  which  are  found  more 
often  upon  the  page  of  the  novel  than  in  the  life 
of  the  great  out-doors.  He  was  the  guide  in  reality, 
— not  the  overdrawn  caricature  of  story. 

Pity,  indeed  a  pity,  that  men  of  Nature,  like  him, 
are  not  trained  to  harvest  the  fruits  which  grow  so 
abundantly  on  both  sides  of  the  path  that  they 
traverse.  If  the  class  he  represents  could  but  use 
experience  as  readily  as  they  get  it,  there  would 
grow  up  a  race  which  would  meet  the  rest  of  the 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  141 

world  in  any  contest,  and  with  bared  arms  and 
naked  ideas  knock  the  conceit  out  of  the  heads  of 
injected  intelligence,  and  pry  the  inhumanity  out 
of  the  closed  fists  of  avaricious  commercialism. 

"  Yer  fellows  are  all  right,"  George  said  to  us  one 
day,  after  the  table  had  been  wiped  off  and  the  dishes 
scraped.  "  You're  not  like  some  folks  I  go  out 
with." 

"In  what  way  do  we  differ  from  them?  "  inquired 
Walt. 

"  In  about  every  way  there  is,"  he  replied.  "  Yer 
hain't  cranky,  and  yer  not  stuck  up.  Yer  may  be 
a  little  off,  when  yer  thrash  out  the  stuff  none  of  ye, 
and  most  likely  nobody  else,  knows  about.  But  take 
yer  as  a  whole,  you're  a  pretty  decent  bunch,  and  I 
likes  most  of  yer  most  of  the  time." 

"Well  said!"  interjected  Arch.  "You  don't 
propose  to  compromise  yourself  by  a  sweeping  state 
ment.  And  really,  my  friend,  your  commendation 
of  us,  while  not  complete,  is  a  blame-sight  better 
than  we  get  at  home.  I  suppose,"  he  continued, 
"that  you  meet  many  types  of  people  in  the  prac 
tice  of  your  vocation." 

"  Guess  I  do ! "  replied  the  guide  emphatically. 
"  Had  a  crowd  with  me  last  month.  Say,  but  they 
did  beat  the  limit !  Every  one  of  'em  was  dressed  up 
to  scare  jack  rabbits,  even  those  that  are  half-tame 
and  have  got  used  to  'most  anything.  The  men,  they 


142  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

wore  those  white  pants  nobody  used  to  trampin' 
ever  puts  on ;  and  not  one  of  'em  would  go  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  when  it  was  so  all-fired  hot  yer  could 
fry  eggs  in  the  sun.  Gee !  but  didn't  they  sweat  like 
drippin'  moss.  I  asked  one  of  'em  why  he  didn't  peel 
off,  and  he  just  looked  at  me  with  a  pityin'  stare,  and 
said,  '  'Cause  we  are  following  the  proper  precedent, 
given  in  a  series  of  articles  on  the  "  Art  and  Science 
of  Living  in  the  Open  Air,"  which  appeared  in  the 
"  Magazine  of  Propriety,"  and  were  written  by  Pro 
fessor  Somebody  of  the  Society  for  Social  Sodality, 
and  illustrated  by  Herr  Anything,  the  great  land 
scape  artist.'  And  would  you  believe  me,  those  fel 
lows  wore  nighties  with  blue  trimmin'  on  'em!  I've 
eaten  spoiled  beans,  and  all  kinds  of  canned  stuff, 
and  I've  got  a  stomach  tough  enough  to  digest  barbed 
wire,  but,  honest,  those  fellows  made  me  sick. 

"  Now,  yer  folks  've  got  sense,"  continued  he. 
"  Yer  don't  put  on  any  lugs.  Yer  take  it  easy,  and 
don't  kick  at  the  grub,  or  raise  a  muss  'cause  there's 
flies  in  the  condensed  milk,  and  pine  needles  in  the 
butter.  Yer  jest  set  to,  and  get  outside  of  what  I 
give  yer  to  eat,  same  ez  us  fellows  do  who've  got  used 
to  livin'  on  it." 

"  We're  deeply  sensitive  to  your  commendation," 
remarked  Arch.  "  Before  we  part,  I  am  going  to  ask 
you  to  write  out  the  good  things  you  have  said  about 
us,  have  the  statement  sworn  to  by  a  justice  of  the 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  143 

peace,  and  we'll  hand  it  out  at  the  Round  Table, 
when  the  gang  we  go  with  are  pitching  onto  us." 

"  Say,"  said  Tom,  "  tell  us  about  some  of  the  par 
ties  you  have  conducted." 

"  Well,"  replied  George,  after  he  had  slowly  and 
systematically  shaved  off  enough  tobacco  to  fill  his 
pipe,  from  a  chunk  half  the  size  of  a  brick,  "  I've 
had  so  many  of  'em,  I  don't  know  where  to  begin." 

"  Tell  us  about  the  folks  with  nighties,"  suggested 
Walt. 

"  Can't  do  it,"  returned  the  guide  emphatically, 
"  it  upsets  my  stomach  to  think  of  'em.  But  I'll 
tell  yer  of  a  bunch  of  female  women,  and  the  dudes 
they  brought  with  'em,  if  yer  don't  mind.  Of  all 
the  skirts  I  ever  saw,  they  was  the  worst.  'Cept  two 
of  'em,  who  were  girls,  they  were  old  enough  and 
scraggy  enough  to  be  grandmother  hens, — long-nosed 
and  lank,  the  kind  your  wife  wouldn't  kick  at  if  yer 
went  round  the  world  with  'ern.  Had  a  fellow  with 
me  once,  who  used  to  call  that  sort  of  female  '  safe 
ties,'  'cause  they  didn't  need  no  chaperone,  or  any 
body  to  shoo  the  men  off.  They  wore  glasses  that 
didn't  tumble  off  unless  you  unsprung  'em,  'cause 
they  had  too  much  holdin'  ground." 

"How  about  the  men?  "  I  interrogated. 

"  Oh,  they  were  cut  off  the  same  stump,"  replied 
the  guide.  "  They  were  spindle-legged,  and  acted  as 
though  they  were  spavined.  There  wasn't  any  get- 


144  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

up  or  even  get-out  to  'em.  When  they  weren't 
sleepin'  or  eatin',  they  sat  and  thought,  and  most 
of  the  time  only  sat.  They  were  so  all-fired  polite, 
yer  had  to  say  *  please '  when  yer  told  'em  grub  was 
ready. 

"  But  let  me  get  back  at  the  women,"  continued  he. 
"Every  one  of  'em  had  a  book  which  she  lugged 
round  with  her,  and,  most  likely,  went  to  bed  with, 
and  they  jest  read  and  read,  or  made  a  bluff  at  it. 
They  huddled  together  and  talked  about  what  they'd 
been  readin'.  I  heard  one  of  'em  say  to  the  next 
one,  *  Marguerite,  isn't  Brownin'  jes  too  sweet  for 
anything?  I've  been  readin'  his '  I  don't  re 
member  what,  and  she  went  on  gushin'  about  what 
I'll  bet  a  huntin'  dog  'gainst  a  singed  cat  she  hadn't 
the  slightest  idea  of.  Same  as  those  psychologists 
do,  when  they  hain't  got  anything  to  say." 

I  kicked  Arch.     He  reciprocated. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  And  the  girl  hard  by  her,"  resumed  the  guide, 
"  she  simpered,  and  replied,  *  Yes,  dearie,  he's  so 
delightfully  delicious.  Yer  know,  he  jest  seems  like 
Kuyler's  chocolates,'  and  then  those  women  cuddled 
and  nudged  each  other,  and  went  at  the  book  again. 

"  *  Say,'  said  I  to  'em,  *  what  yer  readin'?  ' 

"And  the  one  who  had  the  most  length  to  her, 
she  turned  her  watery-lookin*  eyes  on  me,  and  lisped, 
*  Brownin',  the  immortal.' 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  145 

"  'Is  he  alive  now?'  I  asked  innocently.  I'm  not 
an  educated  man,  but  I've  been  to  school,  and  for  a 
spell  we  had  what  she  herself  called  a  bachelor 
woman,  who  carried  her  learnin'  on  both  shoulders 
till  it  bent  her.  And  she  was  always  rammin'  poetry 
and  such  into  us,  when  we  ought  to  have  been  loadin' 
up  with  the  stuff  we  might  use  some  time.  But  I 
did  the  ignorant  act.  You  ought  to  have  seen  the 
girl,"  he  resumed,  after  a  meditative  pause.  "  She 
just  looked  at  me  as  though  I  was  a  toad  too  small 
to  step  on. 

"  *  Why,  my  good  man,'  she  murmured  con 
descendingly.  *  Brownin'  died  years  ago.' 

"  *  Did  any  of  his  rhymes  get  printed  in  the  Green 
County  Clarion?  '  I  asked,  *  'cause  the  editor  of  that 
paper  was  a  great  feller  for  shovin'  in  verses.' 

"  Speechless  she  stared  at  me,  too  astonished  to 
reply. 

"  *  Marguerite,'  she  whispered,  when  her  amaze 
ment  had  subsided  enough  to  let  her  tongue  loose, 
4  Did  you  ever ! '  and  Marguerite  replied,  *  No,  I 
never ! '  and  the  two  Brownin'  eaters  got  up  and  went 
into  their  cabin." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IVE  us  another,"  said  Tom. 

"Let's  see,"  replied  the  guide.  "Did  I 
tell  yer  about  that  big  shoe  manufacturer  and  his 
wife,  who  hired  me  summer  before  last?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  he  was  a  corker,  big  and  fat,  weighed 
about  a  quarter  of  a  ton  with  his  boots  off.  He  was 
up  at  Horsehead  Landin,'  stoppin'  at  the  hotel. 
'Twan't  my  regular  stampin'  ground,  but  I  was  up 
there  'cause  it  was  kind  o'  dull  where  I  ginerally 
hangs  out.  One  mornin',  the  clerk,  who  knew  me, 
introduced  me  to  Mr.  Hyde. 

"  '  My  man,'  he  said,  from  somewhere  down  his 
throat,  '  are  yer  engaged  f er  next  month  ? ' 

"  *  No,'  said  I. 

"  Well,  after  askin'  a  few  questions,  he  seemed  ter 
sort  o'  feel  I'd  do.  So  we  got  together.  The  clerk, 
he  told  me  that  Hyde  had  a  few  million  sweatin'  in 
terest. 

"  As  he  didn't  say  anything ,  about  gettin'  sup 
plies,  I  told  him  that  I  would  attend  to  'em. 

"  *  I'll  look  out  fer  'em,'  says  he.    And  he  did ;  and 

he  didn't. 

146 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  147 

"I've  seen  mean  folks,  chaps  so  close  that  they'd 
suck  air  instead  of  buyin'  a  drink.  But  he  was  the 
champion  of  'em  all;  worse,  by  ginger!  than  the 
feller  up  north,  who  was  so  mean  that  he  used  to 
bottle  his  butter,  and  let  the  children  rub  the  bottle 
onto  their  bread. 

"  He  went  up  to  the  store  with  me,  and,  would 
yer  believe  it,  he  got  jest  enough  grub  to  keep  us 
goin'  a  week,  if  we  got  sick,  to  say  nothin'  about  a 
month,  with  the  kind  of  appetite  even  dyspeptics 
get  when  they're  out  in  the  woods.  I  knew  I  was  in 
for  it,  so  said  nothin'.  His  wife,  she  was  as  close  as 
he  was,  sometimes  I  thought  worse. 

"  We  started  off,  and  got  into  the  woods,  bringin5 
up  to  where  we  are  now.  Old  Hyde,  he  pulled  off 
his  shoes  to  save  leather;  and  his  wife,  she'd  most 
likely  have  done  the  same  if  she  hadn't  got  feet  that, 
judging  by  the  way  they  looked  with  her  boots  on, 
would  've  made  good  snowshoes,  'cause  they  were 
as  flat  and  broad  as  griddlecakes. 

"Hyde,  he  thought  the  world  was  just  made  fer 
him  and  nobody  else.  He  had  more  conceit  to  the 
square  inch  than  had  any  college  grad  I  ever  had 
charge  of,  'fore  he  gets  the  education  kicked  up 
far  'nough  for  him  to  corral  it.  He  was  all  the 
time  talkin'  'bout  his  big  factory  and  the  number 
of  pairs  he  turned  out,  and  'bout  the  thunderin'  big 
deals  he  made,  till  I  got  to  thinkin'  that  if  it  hadn't 


148  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

been  for  him,  we'd  all  've  gone  barefoot,  'cause  so 
far  as  I  could  see,  from  the  talk  he  handed  out,  he 
made  all  the  shoes  in  the  world  and  a  blame-sight 
more. 

"  He  wasn't  worth  a  cuss  shootin',  and  couldn't 
fish,  'cause  he  had  so  much  front  to  him,  that  if  he 
tried  it,  he  couldn't  've  seen  where  the  line  struck 
the  water  'less  he'd  had  a  pole  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long.  But  he  wanted  to  shoot  something,  didn't  care 
what,  so  I  let  him  have  my  gun,  and  he'd  set  on  a 
rock  and  jest  wait,  while  the  flies  were  busy  at  him. 

"  As  I  couldn't  get  any  more  provisions  'less  I 
tramped  and  canoed  twenty  mile  for  'em,  I  went 
lightly  on  what  we  had,  caught  a  few  fish,  and 
brought  down  a  squirrel  or  two.  I  managed  to  keep 
'em  half-filled,  and  by  eatin'  'tween  meals,  when  they 
weren't  watching',  I  didn't  suffer  much. 

"His  wife,  poor  woman, — if  ever  a  critter  needed 
heavy  fodderin',  she  did.  She  didn't  carry  any  stock 
of  flesh  on  her,  but  he'd  have  lived  a  year  on  what  he 
had,  and  would  've  looked  a  blame-sight  better  for 
it. 

"  One  day  he  was  sittin'  on  a  rock  strong  enough 
to  hold  him,  'side  a  deep  pool  in  the  water.  One  of 
those  busy  bumblebees  give  him  a  push  into  it.  He 
flopped  about  like  a  rhinoceros.  I  couldn't  fish  him 
out,  'cause  I'm  no  Samson,  so  I  poled  him  into  shal 
low  water,  and  rolled  him  ashore." 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  149 

"Did  you  get  your  pay?"  inquired  Don. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  guide.  "  He  saved  enough 
on  the  grub  he  didn't  have  to  settle  with  me  and  have 
some  left  over." 

"I  don't  see  how  he  did  it,"  interjected  Arch. 
"  If  he  paid  for  the  food,  how  could  he  realize  suf 
ficiently  upon  it  to  have  more  than  he  put  out  in  the 
first  place?  " 

"  Easily,"  said  Don,  "  if  you  know  how  to  finance. 
An  old  uncle  of  mine,  a  Maine  farmer,  was  so  close 
a  calculator  that  every  time  he  sold  a  cow  for  fifty 
dollars,  he'd  make  sixty-five." 

"  But,"  protested  Arch,  "  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  get  more  out  of  a  thing  than  there  is  in  it  origi 
nally.  It  stands  to  reason " 

"Pull  in  your  tongue,  Arch,"  ejaculated  Tom, 
"  and  get  down  where  you  belong.  How  many  times 
have  I  told  you  that  business  isn't  a  complicated  af 
fair  like  your  psychology  is?  It  adjusts  itself  to 
conditions.  If  you  had  anything  about  you  to  carry 
it  away  in,  I'd  try  to  teach  you  something." 

Arch  entered  the  cabin,  and  hours  afterward  we 
found  him  there,  among  his  machinery  and  books, 
working  hard  at  some  problem. 

"Whatcher  doin'?"  Tom  asked. 

"  Tom,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  you  heard  what  Don 
said  about  his  uncle's  cow?  I've  dived  into  every 
thing  I  have  here,  and  I  can't  figure  out  how  he 


150  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

made  sixty-five  dollars  when  he  received  only  fifty 
for  the  animal." 

"You  forgot  the  milk,"  Tom  remarked  drily. 

Over  Arch's  face  spread  a  look  of  intense  satis 
faction. 

"  Thanks,"  he  muttered.  "  Why.  didn't  I  think  of 
that?" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  rained! 
No,  it  wasn't  rain,  for  rain,  according  to  the 
encyclopedia,  the  dictionary,  the  Old  Farmer's 
Almanack,  and  the  Government  scientists  who  order 
the  weather,  is  composed  of  separate  and  individual 
drops  of  water,  which,  from  the  sky,  fall  and  don't 
dash  upon  the  earth  beneath.  The  liquid  phenom 
ena,  which  was  exhibiting  itself  all  about  us,  was  a 
sky-topped  waterfall  which  filled  the  air  completely, 
with  not  a  microscopic  air  space  among  it.  It  was 
solid  water,  one  great  and  mighty  flood. 

Were  we  in  it? 

Oh,  no,  we  were  under  it;  for  the  cabin,  although 
it  looked  leaky,  was  as  tight  as  the  collateral  money 
lender. 

We  were  indoors,  each  with  a  pipe,  and  none  of 
us  seemed  to  want  to  say  anything  or  talk. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  two  tons 
of  water  with  a  man  in  the  middle  of  it. 

He  was  not  wet, — he  was  water-logged. 

After  Tom  had  pushed  him  against  the  wall  until 
the  active  water  was  pressed  out  of  him,  we  helped 

him  out  of  his  clothes,  and,  from  our  limited  ward- 

151 


152  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

robe,  covered  him  with  a  shirt  from  one  of  us,  a  pair 
of  trousers  from  another  of  us,  while  still  another 
of  us  provided  a  coat  for  him. 

The  stranger  was  a  splendid  looking  chap  of  forty 
or  more,  with  a  body  and  head  that  matched. 

We  took  a  liking  to  him  at  once,  and  bid  him  wel 
come.  As  we  had  only  a  pipe  apiece,  and  as  no 
amateur  woodsman  can  maintain  both  cast  and 
cigars,  we  took  turns  in  lending  him  a  pipe. 

Somehow,  his  arrival,  and  the  flood  that  accom 
panied  him,  thawed  us  out,  and  we  began  to  play  a 
game  of  conversation  with  the  stranger  taking  his 
turn  at  trumping. 

For  some  reason  (most  likely  for  no  reason)  we 
didn't  tell  him  where  we  came  from,  and  we  allowed 
him  to  pay  the  Empire  City  the  highest  compliment 
by  intimating  that  he  thought  we  were  New  Yorkers. 

After  we  had  talked  and  re-talked  for  a  while,  Don 
turned  to  him  and  suddenly  asked,  "  Where  do  you 
hail  from?" 

Proudly  the  stranger  rose  to  his  feet,  and  with 
out-blown  chest  exclaimed,  "  From  Chicago ! " 

*'  Always  lived  there  ?  "  inquired  Walt. 

"  Unfortunately,  no,"  he  replied,  with  a  sigh  and 
a  blush.  "  It's  no  use  for  me  to  deny  that  I  was  born 
among  the  Cape  Cod  sand  fields  and  emigrated  to 
Boston  in  the  days  when  the  Hub  of  Conceit  was  be 
ginning  to  appreciate  its  Spokes." 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  153 

"  Don't  apologize,"  I  said.  "  You  were  not  to 
blame." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Boston?"  asked  Tom. 

"  Everything ! "  exclaimed  the  Chicagoan  em 
phatically.  "  Say,  fellows,  would  you  like  to  know 
how  I  escaped  from  Eastern  cold  storage,  and  got 
into  a  place  where  things  move  without  being  pushed 
or  coerced?  " 

There  was  unanimous  assent.  We  intuitively  felt 
that  something  worth  while  was  coming,  and  wanted 
it  to  come. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  and  maybe  some  of 
you,  if  you  ever  go  to  Boston,  will  not  take  violent 
exceptions  to  all  of  my  contentions.  Boston,  in  my 
early  days,  was  the  biggest,  happiest,  most  fraternal 
town  in  all  creation, — the  beautiful,  satisfied,  and 
slightly  booming  abiding  place  of  peace  and  plenty, 
with  not  too  much  of  either. 

"  As  my  mind  harks  back  to  those  happy  days  of 
my  youth,  I  wish  I  could  renovate  the  great,  lumber 
ing  Boston  of  to-day,  and  strangle  the  presumptu 
ous  progressives  who  filled  up  her  tide-covered  flats 
with  the  mixed  mud  of  cosmopolitanism,  and  satu 
rated  her  simplicity  with  a  solution  of  society  which 
upsets  the  tranquillity  of  respectability. 

"My  not  yet  fleeting  memory  suggests  a  longing 
for  those  days  of  Boston's  yore,  when  something 
which  resembled  fraternity  was  at  the  bat,  and  good- 


154  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

will  pitched  a  ball  a  self-respecting  player  could 
strike  at. 

"Folks  knew  each  other  in  those  ante-city  days, 
and  commercial  cussedness  crawled  in  the  shadows, 
with  few  avaricious  enough  to  sell  their  sense  for 
dollars. 

"Now  Boston  is  a  great,  big  yardful  of  money 
monuments,  erected  by  t{ie  successful  fishers  of  men 
and  suckers,  who  would  rather  bite  at  the  golden 
hook,  and  get  caught,  than  live  upon  the  natural 
food  provided  by  a  natural  mother. 

"Boston  and  I  grew  up  together,  yet  neither  of 
us  acknowledged  the  honor  to  the  other.  There  were 
others  who  were  responsible  for  the  up-fall  of  good 
Boston  into  the  money-mire  of  metropolitan  merce- 
nariness." 

Our  stranger  friend  paused,  while  we  gasped  in 
amazed  appreciation. 

When  we  got  part  way  back  to  normal,  Walt  re 
marked  drily,  "  Did  all  of  you  assimilate  the 
epigrammatic  ponderousness  of  his  literary  allitera 
tion,  and  get  onto  his  '  mercenariness  '?  " 

"I  did  for  one,"  said  Tom,  and  turning  to  our 
guest,  he  remarked,  "  You're  a  wonder  at  word-sling 
ing.  Perhaps  some  of  'em  are  of  doubtful  coinage, 
but  there's  a  ring  to  'em  which  adds  a  metallic  bril 
liancy  to  your  talk,  that's  mighty  refreshing  in  these 
days  of  diseased  vocabularies,  when  men,  and  women, 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  155 

too,  paint  their  word-pictures  with  silken  brushes  too 
soft  to  hold  the  colors  of  life." 

"  Thanks,"  remarked  the  Chicagoan  meekly,  "  I'm 
glad  that  you're  able  to  follow  me  without  over-ex 
ertion.  Shall  I  go  on,  or  have  you  had  enough?  " 

"  Let  her  spin,"  replied  Tom.  "  Go  as  far  as  you 
like.  We're  used  to  listening  to  stuff  that  would 
peel  the  skin  off  a  circus-cured  rhinoceros.  You 
can't  upset  our  equanimity." 

Thus  encouraged,  our  friend  continued: 

"I  entered  business,  became  a  changer  of  goods 
into  money ;  learned  the  legerdemain  of  buying  some 
thing  at  under  price  and  of  selling  it  at  more  than 
it  was  worth.  I  became  a  self-appointed  captain  of 
the  industry  of  others.  I  levied  my  own  tolls,  and 
collected  them,  with  the  aid  of  a  business  gun.  I  was 
a  smoking  part  of  that  nerveless  engine  of  trade, 
which  forever  strives  to  make  a  dollar's  worth  of 
steam  out  of  fifty  cents'  worth  of  fuel. 

"  As  men  run, — for  no  man  of  money-making  ever 
walks, — I  was  considered  a  pretty  decent  sort  of  fel 
low,  one  of  Boston's  constant  worshipers  at  the 
shrine  of  Get-There, — No  matter  How,  But  Get 
There ! 

"  I  got  there.  With  my  feet  firmly  planted  upon 
the  rock  of  expediency, — the  foundation  of  com 
mercial  enterprise, — I  fairly  sweat  respectability, 
and  exhaled  conventional  goodness. 


156  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"By  minding  my  own  business,  I  got  business 
from  those  who  didn't  attend  to  their  business.  I 
owned  the  land  that  others  sowed  and  cultivated; 
and,  at  the  harvesting,  I  gathered  in  their  wheat 
that  I  might  sell  it  to  those  who  grew  it. 

"  Underfed  talent  lifted  its  hat  to  me.  The  church 
sold  me  absolution  at  the  price  of  pew  rent,  two  per 
cent,  off  for  cash. 

"From  the  top  of  the  wave,  I  waved  my  dollar- 
starred  banner,  and  gayly  danced  upon  the  shores 
of  society  to  the  sweet,  singing  symphony  of  the 
lightly  rolling  ripples,  which  never  got  near  enough 
to  becoming  a  wave  to  foam  or  roar. 

"Disintegrating  Boston  wanted  what  I  was  and 
had.  I  played  the  game  of  policy,  and  won  at  the 
rubber. 

"  Then  reaction  set  in.  I  rebelled  at  being  a 
puppet  pulled  by  the  strings  of  a  bless-you,  damn- 
you  society,  which  loved  its  fellows  with  an  affection 
so  thin  that  it  couldn't  withstand  the  pressure  of  a 
handshake. 

"  I  ceased  to  build  houses  of  gold  dust.  I  turned 
my  face  toward  the  Western  Open,  where  men  re 
sembled  men,  and  where  women  were  of  common 
gender. 

"But  before  I  left  for  the  promised  land  of  op 
portunity,  I  remained  in  Boston  long  enough  to 
shake  my  fist  at  her  bacteria-ated  culture,  and  to 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  157 

tell  my  fellows  the  plain,  unvarnished,  undressed 
truth  about  the  shut-up-ness  of  the  unventilated 
East." 

He  paused  to  give  us  opportunity  to  suggest  that 
he  continue. 

We  were  game. 

"  Go  on,"  we  said. 

"  Hold !  "  interrupted  Arch. 

"  Shut  up !  "  shouted  Walt.  "  Our  guest  is  at  the 
bat.  You  field-it  for  a  while  longer." 

Our  friend  gathered  himself  together  again,  and 
resumed : 

"A  handful  of  I-want-to-be  philanthropists,  kid- 
gloved  and  of  surface  immaculateness,  with  anti 
septic  spades,  turned  up  enough  of  the  Fenway  mud 
to  scatter  the  decay  of  the  ages. 

"  The  smell,  however,  was  historic.  It  came  from 
the  Sacred  Past.  Like  babies'  milk,  it  was  bottled  in 
bonded  sterilizers,  and  became  the  bluing  used  in 
the  wash-tubs  of  reform. 

"  These  self-selected  censors  for  revenue  princi 
pally  formed  a  heeling,  twisted,  deformed,  loose- 
jointed  association  for  the  reincarnation  of  a 
bigger,  bitterer,  bigoted  Boston.  They  appointed 
ten  thousand  net  inactive  committees,  each  chair- 
manned  by  a  man  of  name,  but  not  of  action,  and 
built  a  rostrum  in  every  hall  which  was  not  located 
well  enough  to  be  used  for  a  moving-picture  show. 


158  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

They  accepted  bids  for  privileges  to  speak,  and  to 
deliver,  the  inexhaustible  spillings  of  the  Boston 
mind,  which  didn't  mind  its  business  because  it  hadn't 
any  business  to  mind. 

"  Thousands  of  degreed  and  pedigreed  men  and 
women  swallowed  the  line,  the  hook,  and  the  bait. 
The  lettered  minority  attempted  to  paint  the  al 
phabet  of  asininity  upon  the  sun-burned  faces  of  the 
unlettered  majority. 

"  Heaven  closed  her  near-earth  windows  that  she 
might  not  be  suffocated  by  the  whirling  dust  of 
ground-up  dictionaries,  which  belched  from  the 
blowers  of  lecture  hall  and  pulpit. 

"  Boston  went  reform  mad,  without  being  cross 
about  it.  She  filled  her  smooth-bore  mouth  with 
wet  words,  and  sprinkled,  not  soaked,  her  populace. 
(Hang  that  metaphor!  It's  mixed.  But  so  was  the 
stuff  it  tried  to  picture.) 

"I  joined  the  speech-rangers,  but  my  rostrum  oc 
cupancy  was  short-lived. 

"  Why?     There  were  several  reasons. 

"  There  was  to  be  a  continuous  performance  of 
word-contests  at  the  Old  Museum  of  Departed  Arts. 
Its  fourteen  halls  had  fourteen  platforms.  Four 
teen  men  were  to  talk  simultaneously  against  time 
and  audience. 

"  I  had  Hall  Number  Thirteen, — an  unlucky  num 
ber  for  my  hearers.  I  endeavored  to  close  my  ha- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  159 

rangue  with  one  fell  swoop  of  pent-up  fury  let  loose. 
I  would  be  eloquent,  unique,  impressive,  epigram 
matic,  and  even  grammatical,  and  all  else  that  goes 
to  make  up  a  ringing  finale. 

" '  My  fellows,'  I  shouted,  '  what's  the  matter 
with  Boston? ' 

"  Then,  I  paused  to  give  them  a  chance  to  answer 
the  unanswerable.  Striking  what  I  imagined  to  be  a 
heroic  attitude,  a  sort  of  cross  between  Napoleon 
at  Helena  and  Bryan  in  Convention,  I  waxed,  I 
whacked,  I  grabbed  the  American  bird  of  oratory  by 
the  claws,  and  soared  above  my  hearers, — at  the 
bird's  expense.  I  fired  my  load,  and  blazed  away 
after  my  ammunition  was  exhausted.  I  tangled  my 
self  in  the  thread  of  my  remarks.  Like  a  spent  top, 
I  wobbled.  With  a  mighty  effort  I  straightened  up, 
and  ran  down  with  the  following  yell: 

"  *  The  yeast  of  the  East  is  rising  in  the  West, 
and  men  are  going  where  there's  room  to  throw  a 
thought  and  catchers  who  won't  muff  it.' 

"  The  applause  was  conspicuous  by  its  absence. 
Not  a  hand,  not  a  hiss, — nothing  to  show  that  I  had 
said  either  something  or  nothing. 

"  Then  and  there  I  became  an  undesirable  speaker, 
and  my  career  as  a  Boston  orator,  philantro- 
pist,  reformer,  and  cultivator  of  superannuated 
progress  was  nipped  in  the  first  shoot  of  its  bud 
ding." 


160  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

"  Isn't  this  a  good  place  for  applause  to  come 
in?  "  suggested  Walt. 

Even  Arch  and  the  Professor  joined  in  the  hand- 
clapping. 

"  I'm  'most  through,"  the  Chicagoan  said,  "  and 
you  can  rest  in  peace. 

"  'I  said  unto  myself,'  "  he  continued,  'why  at 
tempt  to  swim  longer  in  a  water  too  light  to  support 
my  weight?  ' 

"  I  was  still  young,  my  digestion  was  normal,  and 
ambition  had  not  forsaken  me.  I  had  some  money, 
which  I  had  pried  from  out  the  sewed-up  Boston 
pocketbook. 

"  My  business  was  of  a  movable  character,  and 
could  be  planted  to  grow  in  any  commercial  soil. 
So  I  moved  it  and  myself  to  Chicago.  There  I  have 
been  for  five  years. 

"In  that  wonderful  city  I  found  the  Cream  of 
the  East,  the  men  who  had  courage  enough,  and 
ambition  enough,  and  sense  enough  to  escape  from 
suffocation  and  enter  an  air  reeking  with  activ 
ity. 

"  In  ninety  days  I  was  as  much  at  home  in  my 
adopted  town  as  I  had  been  in  the  place  of  my  youth 
and  early  manhood. 

"  Out  there  I  combated  fierce  competition,  and  ran 
across  obstacles  and  handicaps;  but  even  those  who 
combated  me  did  it  in  that  good-hearted  friendly  way 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  161 

which  takes  the  sting  out  of  competition,  and  adds 
fraternity  to  rivalry. 

"  And  I  found  culture  there ;  not  the  weary, 
effete  culture  of  the  East,  but  the  kind  that  made 
a  specialty  of  distributing  itself. 

"  The  Chicago  library  didn't  have  as  many  books 
as  its  windowless  counterpart  in  the  East,  but  every 
book  was  working. 

"  But,  enough,  boys !  I'm  hungry.  What  you  got 
for  grub?" 

We  fed  him. 

After  he  was  internally  filled,  we  filed  before  him, 
and  each  of  us,  save  Arch,  in  turn,  made  a  grandil 
oquent  five-minute  address,  calculated  to  impress 
him  with  our  appreciation;  and,  perhaps,  it  did. 

Arch  remained  silent,  wrapped  in  thought  and  an 
army  blanket.  He  was  rummaging  among  the  foot 
hills  of  psychophysical  mountains,  hunting  for  the 
"last  analysis." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Don,  after  the  Chicagoan  had 
made  a  characteristic  reply,  "  the  joke's  on  you. 
We're  Bostonians,  every  one  of  us  is  of  Boston, 
from  Boston,  and  going  back  to  Boston." 

The  Man  from  Chicago  stood  at  attention.  He 
blushed  not,  neither  did  he  smile.  "  Boys,"  he  re 
plied  soberly,  "truth  never  apologizes,  never  re 
tracts,  but  stands  immutably  upon  her  unmovable 
base,  defying  man  and  Boston." 


162  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

Somebody  turned  off  the  water,  the  clouds  dis 
appeared,  and  our  friend  (for  he  seemed  no  longer 
a  stranger  to  us)  bid  as  a  hearty  good-bye,  with  a 
promise  to  call  on  us  and  dine  with  us  when  next  he 
visited  our  city;  and  we  jointly  and  severally  ac 
cepted  his  invitation  to  make  his  house  our  home 
when  in  Chicago. 


CHAPTER  XXVin 

HE  reader,  if  he  is  alive  at  this  stage  of  the 
•••  book,  has  undoubtedly  wondered  at  my  ultra- 
prominent  modesty  and  my  sublime  and  heroic  (ap 
parent)  desire  to  bill  the  exploits  of  others  to  the 
almost  complete  exclusion  of  myself.  He  has  doubt 
less  generated  a  warmth  of  affection  for  me,  and 
has  longed  at  times  to  hear  more  from  me  about 
what  I  said  and  did,  as  he,  my  friends,  and  I,  have 
journeyed  together. 

But  I  will  not  allow  him  falsely  to  lavish  enco 
miums  of  praise  upon  me,  nor  permit  him  to  feel  an 
appreciation  which  is  not  deserved. 

With  more  faults  than  virtues  to  my  credit,  I  am 
honest, — so  filled  with  the  triple  essence  of  pure 
truthfulness,  that  I  would  rather  starve  on  the 
crusts  I  earn  than  auto  through  this  story  on  the 
gas  I  borrow. 

I  am  not  a  man  of  modesty.  In  my  lexicon  no 
such  word  appears.  I  was  born  in  conceit,  for  at 
my  birth  my  father  collected  a  hat  from  our  doctor 
on  the  wager  that  his  next  arrival  would  be  a  boy. 

Because  I  was  the  only  one  in  the  family  who  had 

any  prospect  of  becoming  a  man,  my  parents  handed 

163 


164  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

me  the  stored  conceit  of  generations,  and  taught  me 
all  the  show-off  stunts  which  would  throw  me  before 
the  public  eye  and  develop  my  prenatal  egoism. 

I  am  conceited,  so  filled  with  it  that  if  I  cast  it 
off  at  this  late  day,  I  would  be  as  nude  as  the  un 
dressed  statues  which  connoisseurs  have  clothed  with 
the  unseen  veil  of  Art. 

When  I  started  in  to  write  this  screed,  I  alter 
nated  pen  with  rubber  stamps  of  capital  "  I's."  I 
planted  an  "  I "  in  the  middle  of  the  page,  and  wrote 
around  it.  Every  other  paragraph  began  with  "  I 
said"  or  "said  I."  I  solar-printed  my  jokes,  and 
magnified  my  puns.  I  strewed  the  bubblings  of  my 
brilliancy  broadcast  upon  its  pages.  The  sun  of  my 
personality  scorched  the  paper.  Every  thought  I 
could  think  was  credited  to  me.  The  other  members 
of  the  cast  were  but  supernumeraries,  with  little  to 
do  save  to  serve  as  my  background,  and  act  as 
frames  for  my  posings. 

I  wanted  to  name  the  book  "  Me  and  Mine." 

An  artist,  to  whom  I  had  loaned  money,  painted 
my  portrait  as  many  times  as  the  debt  would  per 
mit,  and  if  I  had  had  my  way  the  book  would  have 
begun  with  a  dozen  frontispieces  of  me,  each  repre 
senting  an  angle  of  my  consummate  cuteness. 

The  publisher's  editor,  however  (may  he  never 
get  his  pay  raised!),  rudely  tore  out  the  portrait 
pages,  and  ripped  out  the  lines  of  my  glorying  and 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  165 

glorification,  and  left  only  the  words  I  had  used  to 
connect  the  gems  I  had  written  for  me  to  deliver, 
with  the  incidental  expressions  of  the  others,  who 
were  there  merely  as  my  foils. 

The  best  part  of  this  book  is  not  in  this  book. 
It  has  been  cut  out,  squeezed  out,  put  out,  by  that 
rigid  connecting  rod  'twixt  the  brilliant  author  with 
his  scintillating  work  and  the  money-making  pub 
lisher — the  man  professionally  known  as  the  pub 
lisher's  editor. 

Nevertheless,  I  have  copies  of  the  sunshine  and 
moonshine,  the  glares  of  humor,  the  ripples  of  wit, 
which  were  not  allowed  to  effuse  these  pages;  and 
some  day,  when  I  become  famous,  if  luck  passes  my 
way,  I  will  make  a  book  of  what  isn't  in  this  book, 
and  this  new  book  will  be  mine,  all  mine.  Then  this 
reflection  of  what  I  can  do,  this  expurgated,  torn- 
asunder  book,  will  have  a  competitor,  which  will 
drive  it  into  the  cave  of  innocuous  desuetude. 

Now  I  will  go  back  to  the  woods,  because  it  is 
time  to  pack  up  for  home.  The  days  are  growing 
shorter,  the  baked  beans  are  sprouting  in  the  can, 
the  sugar  just  covers  the  bottom  of  the  bag,  the 
last  sardine  box  is  waiting  for  the  can-opener,  the 
cracker  sack  is  lean  and  lank;  in  the  words  of  Arch 
— "  The  opportune  time  has  arrived  for  our  exodus, 
and  let  us  grasp  it  by  the  forelock,  and  quit." 

I  would  have  kept  the  reader  in  the  woods  for  a 


166  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

month  more  of  pages,  and  have  harassed  him  with 
descriptions  of  our  harmless  exploits,  which  never 
occurred  in  duplicate.  I  would  have  filled  a  book 
too  large  to  sell  at  a  reasonable  price,  with  what  the 
guide  said;  and  would  have  builded  an  encyclopedia 
out  of  the  sagenesses  of  Arch  and  the  Professor, — 
but  I  am  tired,  not  of  the  woods,  but  of  writing  about 
them. 

So  we  went  home,  home  to  the  city  of  cut-rate  cul 
ture,  to  the  abiding  place  of  men  and  women,  and 
others,  who  are  thinking  the  faded  thoughts  of  the 
gone,  and  drinking  the  stagnant  water  of  the  past. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

IN  the  cool  of  a  settling  September  we  were  again 
at  the  Round  Table.  Don  had  had  an  antiseptic 
shave.  Arch's  hair  had  been  trimmed  to  the  pro 
fessional  length  approved  by  the  Authors'  Club. 
The  Professor  was  wearing  a  collar.  Walt  had  had 
his  trousers  pressed;  and  Tom  had  just  returned 
from  the  cleanser's,  where  his  flowing  beard  had  been 
renovated  and  the  moss  combed  out  of  it;  while  I, 
in  my  red  necktie,  was  not  far  behind  the  others  in 
the  appearance  of  respectability. 

After  the  conversation  had  furnished  gratuitous 
advice  to  the  President  of  the  United  States,  and  ex 
pert  counsel  to  the  Mayor  of  Boston,  and  the  lead 
ing  problems  of  the  day  had  been  sifted  through 
our  minds  and  settled  for  the  present,  Don  brought 
it  down  to  where  we  were. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  "  I  was  at  the  shop  yesterday, 
and  things  were  moving,  some  of  'em  fairly  humming. 
Nobody  seemed  to  have  missed  me.  Green,  my  man 
ager,  met  me  at  the  door,  shook  hands,  and  re 
marked,  *  Glad  you're  back,  Mr.  Bennett,  but  you 
needn't  have  hurried.  Business  never  was  better. 
Everything's  running  like  a  chronometer.'  I  opened 

167 


168  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

my  desk,  but  there  was  nothing  on  it,  not  even  a 
memorandum,  save  the  reports,  which  had  been 
properly  O'Ked. 

"  '  How's  White  doing? '  I  asked  of  my  secretary, 
referring  to  a  new  man  we  had  placed  in  charge  of 
an  important  department. 

"  *  He's  a  worker,  and  he's  caught  on  in  great 
skape ;  landed  a  big  one  yesterday,  the  one  we've  been 
trying  to  get  for  five  years.' 

"  After  a  while  I  went  down  to  the  bank.  Most 
of  the  fellows  were  there.  They  nodded  at  me,  and 
nobody  said  anything.  I  wondered  at  it,  because 
they  hadn't  seen  me  for  six  weeks. 

" '  How's  business?  '  I  asked  of  the  cashier,  after 
I  had  waited  an  hour  for  somebody  to  say  some 
thing. 

"  '  Good,'  he  replied.  '  Better  than  it  has  been  at 
this  season  for  ten  years.  But  why  do  you  ask?' 

"  *  No  particular  reason  for  it,'  I  replied,  with 
slight  irritation,  'but  I  thought  I'd  inquire  if  any 
thing  had  happened  since  I  went  away.' 

"  The  cashier  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  then  re 
marked  quietly,  'Have  you  been  away,  Mr.  Ben 
nett?' 

"  If  it  had  been  you,"  continued  Don,  looking  at 
Tom,  "  I'd  have  knocked  your  head  off." 

"  Play  it  was  me,"  returned  Tom. 

"  But  there's  a  serious  side  to  it,"  resumed  Don, 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  169 

without  seeming  to  notice  Tom's  pleasantry.  "  It 
proves  pretty  conclusively  that  mighty  few  of  us 
amount  to  anything,  and  most  of  us  don't  amount  to 
that  much.  Here  I've  been  away  for  a  month  and  a 
half,  and  nobody  has  missed  me,  and  most  of  the  fel 
lows  who  work  for  me  didn't  know  I  had  gone.  But 
the  worst  of  it  is  that  business  has  actually  improved 
during  my  absence.  Maybe,"  he  continued  thought 
fully,  and  as  though  talking  to  himself,  "  if  I'd  not 
come  back  at  all,  they'd  have  doubled  it." 

"  Don,"  interrupted  Arch  soberly,  "  you  are  sim 
ply  experiencing  the  unpreventable  result  of  the 
natural  law  of  accomplishment.  Business-doing,  al 
though  to  the  eye  of  the  layman  it  is  apparently  at 
variance  with  the  immutable  laws  of  science,  is  not  in 
fact  removed  from  the  great  fundamental  and  under 
lying  influences  which  determine  and  pre-determine 
the  weight  and  measure  of  the  inevitable  result. 
Back  of  all  action  lies  a  cause  for  each  and  every 
movement,  an  impulse  which  compels  obedience  to  it. 
You  can  no  more  escape  it  than  can  water  refuse  to 
respond  to  the  call  of  gravity.  You,  as  the  chief 
manager  of  that  peculiar  activity,  which  you  and 
your  kin  call  business,  have,  by  your  innate  or  al 
leged  ability,  imparted  to  it  an  unseen  yet  powerful 
momentum,  which  will,  when  once  established,  carry 
on  its  work  long  after  the  creative  energy  which 
started  it  has  been  withdrawn." 


170  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

Tom  was  getting  uneasy,  but  a  glance  from  Arch 
was  sufficient  to  quiet  him. 

"  You  have  built  up,"  continued  Arch,  "  a  sort  of 
automatic  machine;  and  you,  or  your  energy,  is  the 
mainspring  of  it,  with  many  assisting  springs  repre 
sented  by  your  officers  and  employees.  You  and 
they  began  action  simultaneously.  After  all  of  these 
springs  are  fairly  exerting  their  push-and-pull 
power,  you  may,  with  impunity,  remove  yourself  for 
a  time,  and  yet  this  voluntary  absence  on  your  part 
need  not,  and  does  not,  necessarily  discontinue  or  re 
tard  the  motion  of,  or  energy  contained  in,  the  main 
spring,  which  is  vested  in  you,  or  springs  from  you. 
It  will  continue  to  exert  a  pressure  for  days,  and, 
perhaps,  for  years ;  and  before  it  runs  down,  if  that 
should  occur,  it  will,  with  mechanical  intelligence, 
notify  the  adjacent  springs  of  your  coming  depart 
ure,  and  these,  trained  and  tempered  by  you,  will  re 
ceive  an  incentive  to  extra  exertion  because  of  your 
withdrawal;  and  their  combined  and  increased 
activity  may  furnish  a  greater  force  than  is  likely  to 
occur  when  they  are  directly  influenced  or  controlled 
by  the  immediate  presence  of  you,  the  main  or  fun 
damental  spring  of  them  all." 

The  uneasiness  of  the  silence  betold  eruption,  but 
Arch  bravely  continued: 

"  From  this  reason, — which  I  have  made  so  concise 
and  plain  that  even  Tom,  though  a  fool,  can  under- 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  171 

stand, — my  dear  Don,  it  is  clear  that  you  are  not  of 
inconsequence  in  the  conduct  of  your  business.  It 
simply  substantiates  one  of  the  great  economic 
theories,  which  has  demonstrated  that  the  constant 
attention,  or  continuous  application,  of  an  initial 
energy  is  not  necessary  to  the  permanence  of  non- 
material  activity.  Do  you  understand  me?  " 

"  Yes,  Arch,"  replied  Don  gently,  as  he  held  back 
Walt's  arm,  which  was  bent  in  Arch's  direction,  "  I 
understand  that  you  are  trying  to  understandingly 
express  yourself,  and  I  think  that  I  comprehend 
what  you  are  getting  at,  if  I  don't  follow  your  con 
foundedly  vague  way  of  getting  at  it." 

"  It  is  well,"  responded  Arch.  "  It  would  ap 
pear  that  you  are  approaching  the  foothills  which 
surround  the  mountains  of  intelligence.  There  is  a 
glimmer  of  hope  for  you,  Don." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

exclaimed    Don,    after   we   had    re- 
covered  from  Arch's  attack,  "  I've  something 
up  my  sleeve." 

"  Roll  up  your  sleeve ! "  ej  aculated  Walt. 

"If  I  did,"  retorted  Don,  "somebody  would  get 
hit." 

"  Take  your  time,"  remarked  Tom  drily,  "  because 
if  you  do,  maybe  you'll  reconsider  and  not  say  it." 

"  Boys,"  resumed  Don,  and  we  could  see  that  he 
was  serious,  "  I've  got  a  plan  which  you  fellows  will 
tumble  to.  You  know  I  never  had  an  automobile, — 
partly  because  I  could  afford  it.  I  thought  I 
wouldn't  risk  my  credit  by  running  one  of  those 
symptoms  of  bankruptcy.  But  why  not?  Some  of 
the  autos  we  see  are  driven  by  men  who  can  afford 
to  keep  'em.  I'm  going  to  take  a  chance.  I'll  buy 
a  touring  car,  and  we'll  enjoy  a  trip  in  it." 

"  Going  to  drive  it  yourself?  "  inquired  Walt,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  I'm  not  all  fool  net,"  returned  Don.  "  No,  I'll 
get  a  chauffeur  to  run  it.  I  want  the  blamed  thing 
to  run,  and  it  won't  run  if  I  run  it." 

"Allow  me  to  offer  my  services,"  said  the  Pro 
fessor. 

176 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  173 

"  My  dear  Professor,"  replied  Don  gently,  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  kind  offer,  but  I  feel,  we  all  feel, 
that  it  would  be  far  better  for  you  to  act  as  ad 
visor  to  the  chaffeur,  to  be  ever  ready  to  come  to 
his  assistance  when  complications  too  intricate  for 
his  unscientific  mind  to  master  arise,  than  to  burden 
yourself  with  the  disagreeable  labor  incumbent  upon 
the  one  who  turns  the  steering  wheel  and  attends  to 
the  stops." 

The  Professor  looked  satisfied,  but  was  he? 

"  Before  you  get  any  farther,"  put  in  Tom,  "  I 
want  to  know  whether  this  trip's  going  to  be  at  Don's 
expense,  or  whether  we're  going  to  chip  in." 

"  You're  to  be  my  guests,"  replied  Don  heartily. 

"  NO !  "  shouted  Tom  decidedly. 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Don,  and  his  face  showed  that 
he  was  a  little  nettled. 

"  I  won't  be  a  guest,"  replied  Tom  positively. 
"  I  ain't  going  to  have  Don  chucking  his  generosity 
at  me  all  winter.  If  I  go,  I'm  going  to  pay  my 
share.  No  getting  under  obligations  for  me." 

"I'm  with  Tom,"  broke  in  Walt.  "It's  Dutch 
treat,  or  nothing.  Do  you  remember  that  twenty- 
five  cent  cigar  Don  gave  me  last  winter?" 

"  No." 

"  Don  hasn't  forgotten  it,"  resumed  Walt.  "  I've 
smoked  that  cigar  eleven  million  times,  counting  the 
references  Don  has  made  to  it." 


174  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"Let's  get  down  to  business,"  interjected  Tom, 
turning  to  Don.  "  We  appreciate  your  generosity, 
but  you  know  that,  under  our  self-established  rule, 
each  one  must  pay  his  own  scot.  As  none  of  us," 
he  continued,  turning  to  the  others,  "have  the  price 
of  a  car,  we've  got  to  condescend  to  let  Don  furnish 
it.  But  we'll  divide  the  expense  of  the  trip  into  six 
equal  parts,  and  go.  What  say  you,  fellows?  " 

The  reply  was  a  unanimous  "  Yes." 

"Let's  go  and  buy  a  car,"  said  Don,  who  never 
transferred  to  the  morrow  what  he  could  as  easily 
do  to-day. 

We  started  for  the  Back  Bay  section,  where  resi 
dential  doorsteps  abut  the  broad  entrances  of  gar 
ages  and  automobile  salesrooms,  which  are  planted 
by  day  and  multiply  by  night. 

The  Professor  was  happy.  His  tongue  was  on  a 
pivot  and  twirled  while  it  wagged.  He,  the  eminent 
physicist,  the  steerer  of  science  in  motion, — was  it 
not  fitting  that  he  should  act  as  chief  consulting  en 
gineer?  A  disconnected  train  of  motor  cars  ran 
out  of  his  mouth.  He  juggled  tires  and  carburetors 
together,  collided  limovisines  with  touring  tops,  and 
tangled  himself  up  in  mixed  metaphors  of  mechanical 
construction. 

We  entered  one  of  those  velvet-carpeted,  plush- 
curtained,  and  tropical-tree-planted  auto  parlors, 
which  are  supernumerous  nowadays,  and  which,  in 


THE   KNOCKERS'    CLUB  175 

point  of  numbers,  outgeneral  even  the  confectionery 
shops,  where  classic  candy  is  molded  into  medieval 
shapes,  and  marketed  with  titles  of  remote  etymol 
ogy- 

A  gentleman  in  evening  dress, — the  historic  twi 
light  falls  early  on  the  made-lands  of  the  Fenway, — 
greeted  us  at  the  portals,  for  the  modern  garage  is 
too  gorgeous  to  have  a  plebeian  door.  He  didn't 
hail  us  with  a  hearty  and  businesslike  "  What  can  I 
show  you  ?  "  which  we  hear  in  New  York,  and  in 
other  places,  without  a  past,  but  instead,  bowed  at 
attention,  and  statuesquely  awaited  our  pleasure. 

Without  vocal  interference,  we  examined  a  highly 
colored  vehicle,  which  looked  as  though  it  would  be 
better  adapted  to  adorn  a  plush-lined  case  than  do 
duty  on  the  road. 

The  Professor  was  in  his  element.  He  got  under 
and  over  the  car.  He  felt  the  pulse  of  the  motor. 
He  punched  the  rubber  tires.  He  sat  on  the  cush 
ions,  and  jammed  his  fingers  with  the  levers.  He 
rattled  off  a  lot  of  technical  terms,  some  of  which 
were  undoubtedly  unacquainted  with  the  others, 
which  paralyzed  the  sales-gentleman,  who  couldn't 
have  understood  more  than  every  other  sentence. 

At  last,  tongue-tired  and  lame-backed,  he  re 
marked,  "  I  think,  gentlemen,  that  we  had  better  visit 
other  makers.  This  car,  while  it  undoubtedly  pos 
sesses  most  of  the  essential  elements,  which,  individ- 


176  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

ually  and  en  masse,  produce  an  acceptable  result, 
does  not  contain,  as  I  view  it,  the  road-wearing  du 
rability  which  will  enable  it  to  render  the  service 
undeniably  desirable  in  a  vehicle  intended  satisfacto 
rily  to  meet  the  vicissitudes  of  long-distance  travel." 

When  the  attendant  regained  consciousnees,  we 
considerately  withdrew,  and  moved  on  to  the  next. 
There  we  found  another  car,  which,  according  to 
statements  made  by  the  man  who  had  it  for  sale,  had 
nothing  in  common  with  the  one  we  had  just  seen,  or 
with  any  other  on  the  face  of  the  road.  It  stood  on 
a  base  of  its  own  exclusive  excellence.  The  factor 
ies  of  science,  and  the  galleries  of  art,  had  impover 
ished  themselves  by  contributing  all  they  had,  and 
some  more,  to  the  making  and  assembling  of  that 
machine.  It  possessed  all  the  virtues  of  the  main 
body  of  the  motor  decalogue,  and  its  appendix  also. 
It  was  one  hundred  plus  per  cent,  pure, — spotless, 
perfect,  unapproachable. 

After  listening  for  an  hour  to  a  specially  prepared 
lecture  upon  that  car,  which  its  seller  had  memor 
ized,  Tom,  with  childlike  blandness,  asked  softly, 
"How  is  it,  my  friend,  that  there  is  any  other  car 
on  the  road?  " 

But  the  question  didn't  feaze  the  salesman.  In 
stantly  he  met  the  inquiry. 

"There  wouldn't  be,  if  we  could  supply  the  de 
mand." 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  177 

"  Granted,"  said  Tom  politely,  "  but  how  is  it 
that  you  have  any  on  hand?  I  see,"  and  he  glanced 
around  him,  "  that  you  have  a  dozen  or  so  unsold." 

The  salesman  was  floored.  He  was  a  post-grad 
uate  of  a  correspondence  university  of  automobileia, 
and  little  of  its  mailed  education  had  covered  the  sell 
ing  side  of  the  motor  business. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?  "  I  asked  Don. 

**  No  good,"  he  replied  decidedly,  "  because  it's  too 
good.  I  don't  want  a  perfect  car.  I  wouldn't  feel 
at  home  in  it.  I'm  going  to  have  one  that  is  natural, 
that  can  go  wrong  once  in  a  while,  so  that  I'll  know 
I'm  motoring." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  next  place  looked  like  the  rotunda  of  a 
Florida  hotel.  It  was  ruged,  and  decorated 
with  trees,  and  plants,  and  flowers.  The  attendants 
were  in  royal  purple  uniform  and  shod  in  soft 
rubber.  We  felt  out  of  place  with  our  everyday 
clothes  on.  Here  wealth  and  shoddy  met,  and  the 
latter  were  the  best  customers. 

I  can't  explain  the  paradoxical  statement  of  a 
friend  of  mine,  that  "  folks  who  haven't  any  money; 
always  have  money  to  buy  cars  with ;"  but  it's  true. 

Certainly  the  display  ravished  the  eye,  and  sub 
dued  the  bargain  instinct.  It  was  a  hall  of  seduc 
tion,  a  den  of  splendor,  where  people  lose  their  senses, 
and  their  dollars.  On  royal  divans  rested  symphonies 
in  paint,  metal,  and  rubber, — art  creations,  which 
were  too  beautiful  to  be  guided  by  mere  man  upon 
common  highways. 

The  Professor  was  happy.  No  stenographer 
could  have  written  his  jargon,  and  a  phonograph 
would  have  broken  down  if  it  had  tried  to  record  the 
babel  of  technical  terms  and  queer  phrases,  which 
would  have  choked  him  if  his  mouth  hadn't  been 

trained  to  pass  them. 

178 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  179 

Mystified  and  muddled,  bewildered  and  twisted, 
we  backed  out  of  that  emporium,  and  turned  down 
a  side  street,  where  there  was  a  small  and  unpreten 
tious  building,  with  a  single  auto  in  the  window,  and 
one  man  and  one  desk  back  of  it.  We  entered,  and 
the  single  occupant  welcomed  us  in  a  businesslike 
manner. 

"  Why,  Richard,  are  you  here?"  exclaimed  Walt, 
who  recognized  the  seller  as  an  old  comrade.  He 
introduced  us,  with  the  remark  that  his  friend  was 
the  only  auto  dealer  in  the  world  who  was  on  speak 
ing  terms  with  the  truth. 

"  You'll  pardon  me,"  said  Don,  as  he  took  a  long, 
lingering  look  at  him,  "  I'm  somewhat  of  a  con 
noisseur  of  curiosities.  Do  you  plead  guilty  to 
Walt's  charge?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  the  salesman  with  a  smile,  "  I 
don't  pretend  to  be  honest.  What's  the  use  of  mak 
ing  a  claim  that  nobody  would  believe,  even  if  you 
substantiated  it?  Then,"  giving  Walt  a  hearty  slap 
on  the  shoulder,  "  if  I  were  honest,  do  you  think  I 
would  hire  Walt  for  my  barker?  " 

"  No !  "  we  exclaimed  in  unison. 

But,  honest  or  not,  this  man  talked  what  was 
either  the  truth  or  a  good  imitation  of  it.  He  was 
frank,  and  didn't  claim  for  his  car  anything  beyond 
the  ability  of  human  ingenuity  to  produce.  He 
called  our  attention  to  some  of  the  unavoidable  outs, 


180  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

without  forgetting  to  present  the  advantages  em 
phatically. 

It  didn't  take  Don  long  to  make  up  his  mind. 

"  I'll  take  it,"  he  remarked  quietly.  "  Give  me  a 
receipted  bill,  and  I'll  hand  you  a  check." 

"  By  the  way,"  inquired  Don,  after  the  trade  had 
been  consummated,  "  can  you  recommend  a  first- 
class  chauffeur?  I  want  an  agreeable  fellow  as  well 
as  an  engineer." 

"  I  know  just  the  man  you  want,"  replied  the 
salesman  quickly.  "  He  lost  his  job  yesterday.  His 
employer  failed  with  two  mortgaged  autos  for  assets. 
I'll  telephone  him." 

Just  then  a  young  man  entered  the  store. 

"  Here  he  is,  by  good  luck ! "  exclaimed  the 
salesman,  as  he  introduced  us  to  "  Jim."  "  If 
he  has  another  name,  I  never  heard  of  it,"  he 
explained. 

"  I  think  I  had  two  names  years  ago,"  said  Jim, 
with  a  smile,  "  but,  honestly,  I've  forgotten  what  the 
other  one  was." 

Jim  certainly  looked  his  part.  There  was  some 
thing  about  him  which  made  one  look  at  him  twice, 
and  long  to  continue  to  look  at  him.  He  was  of 
medium  size,  solidly  built  and  well  proportioned. 
His  red  hair  allowed  his  perpetual  smile  to  pass  over 
his  head  in  undulations  of  good  fellowship.  Of  his 
competency  there  was  no  doubt,  for  the  credentials 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  181 

he  showed  us  proved  his  efficiency  and  experience, 
and  Walt's  friend  vouched  for  his  integrity. 

Jim  was  a  "find."  He  possessed  a  Nature-given 
refinement  and  an  open-air  brightness  as  delightful 
as  they  are  rare  in  these  days  of  cosmetic  culture 
and  massage  polish.  He  was  alert,  and  prepared  to 
meet  emergency  on  call.  He  had  escaped  book- 
learning,  but  carried  in  his  head  what  lazy  men  leave 
on  their  shelves.  What  he  knew,  he  had  with  him, 
ready  for  immediate  delivery.  His  grammar  was  a 
little  shaky,  and  he  could  split  an  infinitive  at  twenty 
yards.  But  what  he  said  connected  with  sense,  and 
you  knew  what  he  was  driving  at,  even  though  he 
didn't  always  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road  of 
macadamized  construction. 

He  replenished  his  stock  of  anecdote  faster  than 
he  unloaded  it.  There  was  a  natural  humor  about 
him  that  invited  the  kind  of  laugh  one  doesn't  feel 
ashamed  of. 

Don  had  no  foolish  notions  about  the  treatment  of 
employees.  He  reasoned  that  a  man  good  enough  to 
run  his  car,  and  associate  with  him  on  the  road,  was 
fit  to  sit  at  his  table. 

Jim  became  our  companion,  not  our  servant. 

Right  here  I  am  tempted  to  tell  you  what  I  think 
of  the  folks  who  draw  the  social  line  so  taut  that 
they  cannot  exercise  in  the  little  roped-off  spot  they 
think  is  society.  I  used  to  get  mad  at  them,  but 


182  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

now  when  I  see  them,  my  eyes  fill  with  tears, — the 
flow  of  pity, — and  I  feel  like  taking  them  by  the 
hand,  and  gently  and  quietly  leading  them  into  the 
exclusiveness  of  some  far-away  wilderness,  and  leav 
ing  them  there,  to  eat  the  dry  bread  their  ancestors 
baked  and  to  drink  the  water  which  is  filled  with 
the  bacteria  of  the  culture  of  the  past. 

Jim  was  made  of  the  stuff  you  hunt  for  when  you 
have  an  order  to  deliver  a  load  of  genuine  manliness. 
He  was  one  of  those  unmedaled  heroes,  who  would 
jump  into  the  water  with  their  boots  on  to  save  a 
drowning  mongrel  society  girl,  of  the  kind  who  waits 
for  a  proper  introduction  before  her  petty  propriety 
will  allow  her  to  thank  the  fellow  whose  self-forget 
ting  generosity  would  impetuously  risk  a  life  worth 
saving,  to  haul  in  a  lump  of  human  worthless- 
ness. 

Jim  had  traveled  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
humanity  and  inhumanity.  He  had  piloted  an  ex 
press  truck,  and  had  guided  the  car  owned  or  hired 
by  that  altogether  too  prevalent  product  of  modern 
society,  commonly  known  as  the  snob, — not  neces 
sarily  a  representative  of  the  newly  rich,  for  the  al 
ways  rich  are  not  a  whit  behind  their  new  neighbors 
in  their  unquenchable  thirst  to  drink  liquid  cash  out 
of  a  golden  goblet,  always  to  be  seen  of  men. 

Yet  Jim  was  never  forward  nor  conceited.  He 
kept  his  place,  except  when  we  pulled  him  out  of  it, 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  183 

and  never  by  word  or  action  did  he  take  advantage 
of  the  good  fellowship  we  offered  him. 

Some  day,  somewhere,  I  don't  know  where,  folks 
like  Jim  are  going  to  play  the  first  cornet  in  the 
Grand  March  of  Progress,  where  unaccompanied 
money  cannot  buy  a  clear  title  to  anything  hitched 
to  anything  that  won't  budge  when  the  wind  blows. 

Handicapped  as  Don  was  by  the  advice  handed 
him  by  the  Professor,  he  managed  to  fit  up  the  car 
to  the  full  satisfaction  of  Jim,  to  whom,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  the  Professor  had  taken  a  great  fancy. 
But  I  think  that  Jim  was  primarily  responsible  for 
the  friendship  on  the  part  of  the  Professor.  Jim 
was  a  diplomat.  He  sized  up  the  Professor  the  first 
time  he  met  him,  recognized  his  theoretical  knowl 
edge;  and,  as  a  shrewd  student  of  mechanics,  he  got 
more  real  good  out  of  him  than  any  of  his  pupils 
were  able  to  extract  in  the  mechanical  atmosphere 
of  his  academic  workshop. 

The  Professor's  large  lack  of  practical  informa 
tion  about  autos  and  their  accessories,  which  in 
creased  his  belief  that  he  knew  all  that  there  was  to 
know  about  them,  bothered  Don  not  a  little,  for  the 
Professor  assumed  to  dictate  what  should  and 
should  not  be  purchased  until  Don  turned  him  over 
to  Jim,  who  handled  him  like  a  nurse  does  a  child. 

The  question  of  search  lamps  came  up.  Don  left 
it  to  Jim,  after  the  Professor  had  insisted  upon  get- 


184  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

ting  a  kind  which  was  a  has-been  before  it  began  to 
shed  its  irresponsible  rays. 

"  Professor,"  said  Jim,  "  I  want  to  show  you  a 
lamp  the  inventor  tells  me  he  built  after  reading  one 
of  your  books,  that  on  the  *  Scientific  Search  for 
Sunlight.'  " 

The  Professor  fairly  radiated  affability.  He 
accompanied  Jim  to  the  light-maker's  shop,  and  en 
thusiastically  recommended  the  purchase  of  a  lamp 
which  was  the  opposite  of  the  one  he  had  insisted 
upon  Don's  getting  in  the  first  place. 

When  science  won't  yield  to  sense,  try  diplomacy, 
and  let  Jim,  or  some  fellow  like  him,  apply  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

*  * "IV/r EET  me  at  the  club  at  eight  o'clock,  Mon- 
•*•*•*•    day  morning,"  said  Don,  as  we  parted. 

We  were  there,  each  with  a  dress-suit  case,  save 
Arch  and  the  Professor. 

"  Where  are  your  bags  ?  "  inquired  Don,  when  he 
noticed  that  they  were  singularly  unprovided  for. 

"  Here's  mine,"  answered  Arch,  as  he  presented 
an  envelope  box  tied  with  black  and  tan  shoe-strings. 
"  I  knew  there  wouldn't  be  much  room,  so  I  brought 
the  least  possible  baggage." 

"  Whatcher  got  in  there?" 

"  A  pair  of  pajamas,  a  comb,  a  tooth-brush,  a  cake 
of  soap,  and  an  extra  shirt." 

"  Must  be  made  of  invisible  cloth,"  remarked  Don 
drily. 

"  Don't  you  think  you're  taking  too  much  for  a 
two-weeks'  trip?"  inquired  Walt. 

"  No,"  replied  Arch  soberly.  "  I  don't  see  how 
I  could  get  along  with  less." 

"  Cut  out  the  soap,"  remarked  Tom. 

"  You  don't  need  an  extra  shirt,"  suggested  Walt. 

"  Where's  yours  ? "  asked  Don,  turning  to  the 
Professor. 

186 


186  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

"  Right  here,"  replied  the  Professor,  proudly  ex 
hibiting  one  of  those  green  cloth  bags,  which  lawyers 
use  because  they  make  the  papers  in  them  look  as 
though  they  had  been  tampered  with. 

"  Got  your  dress-suit  and  overcoat  in  there?  "  in 
terpolated  Tom. 

"  Why,  no.  Do  you  think  I'll  need  them  ?  "  ques 
tioned  the  Professor. 

"If  you've  any  extra  room,"  remarked  Walt, 
"  I'd  like  to  have  you  shove  in  a  couple  of  boxes  of 
cigars." 

But  Arch  and  the  Professor  had  reentered  the  club 
house.  In  a  moment  they  returned,  accompanied  by 
four  bell  boys  loaded  to  the  necks  with  books  and 
other  stuff. 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Don,  in  amazement. 

"  Just  a  few  things  I  want  while  away,"  answered 
Arch. 

"  I  brought  along  a  few  of  my  models,"  explained 
the  Professor. 

Don  turned  to  the  bell  boys. 

"  Take  that  truck  back,"  he  ordered  decidedly. 

"  Say,  you  educated  fools,"  he  exclaimed,  turning 
to  Arch  and  the  Professor,  "do  you  take  this  car 
for  a  baggage  truck,  and  me  for  the  keeper  of  an 
asylum  ?  " 

Neither  Arch  nor  the  Professor  made  any  reply. 
They  gazed  longily  at  their  disappearing  parapher- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  187 

nalia,  but  at  the  "  All  aboard  "  of  Don,  climbed  with 
the  rest  of  us  into  the  car. 

Jim  had  already  cranked  the  motor,  and,  with 
blessings,  and  other  remarks,  from  the  dozen  or  so 
Round-Tablers  who  stood  at  the  door,  we  were  on 
our  way. 

We  turned  into  Commonwealth  Avenue, — styled, 
by  those  who  don't  live  there,  or  are  unacquainted 
with  its  residents,  the  great  artery  of  blue  blood ;  but 
many  years  ago  it  changed  its  consistency  to  liquid 
cash,  and  is  the  modern  abiding  place  of  the  dollars 
of  the  money-pumping  hearts  of  wealth, — and  were 
soon  out  in  the  open,  among  the  cliff  dwellers  of  the 
flats  and  the  tax  jumpers  of  unimproved  lands. 

We  ran  at  moderate  speed,  because  we  had  good 
sense,  and  because  Don  was  not  a  member  of  that 
increasing  clan  of  law  breakers,  who  respect  no  or 
dinances  which  interfere  with  the  speed  of  their  self 
ishness.  Jim  drove  the  car  with  painstaking  cau 
tion.  He  didn't  try  to  pass  the  racers,  who,  unfor 
tunately,  are  more  likely  to  injure  others  than  them 
selves,  nor  did  he  turn  sharp  corners  at  a  breakneck 
pace. 

Judging  by  the  way  the  autos  passed  us,  we  were 
the  only  law-abiding  citizens  on  the  road.  Some 
time  the  courts  will  fine  the  poor  and  jail  the  rich, 
and  then  there  will  be  at  least  the  appearance  of  con 
sideration  for  the  rights  and  safety  of  others.  It 


188  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

will  then  be  as  wicked  to  swing  a  golf  stick  on  the 
grounds  of  the  Country  Club,  on  Sunday,  as  it  is  to 
play  a  game  of  scrub  ball  on  the  public  parks. 

Law  is  now,  however,  only  convalescent.  By  and 
by  it  will  be  strong  enough  to  attend  to  its  business. 

At  noon  we  reached  the  Oldtime  Inn,  one  of  those 
tumbled-down,  propped-up  hostelries,  which  Bos 
ton's  undertone  thinks  that  it  appreciates.  It  was 
a  farm  house  a  century  or  more  ago,  and  in  its  un- 
ventilated  interior  were  born  and  raised  the  folks  we 
might  not  have  reverenced  had  we  lived  with  them, 
eaten  their  hog  meat,  and  drank  out  of  the  disease- 
spreading  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well  of  typhoid. 

The  whole  affair,  inside  and  out,  had  been  re 
modeled,  cut  up,  and  patched  up  until  it  looked  like 
a  jumbled  mixture  of  what  originally  was,  was  sev 
eral  times  changed  to  be,  and  now  is,  each  succeed 
ing  occupant  having  added  something  without  tak 
ing  anything  away.  It  was  a  shambly,  shamefaced 
monument  of  an  intermixture  of  modern  interference 
and  long-ago  irregularity. 

It  is,  however,  a  success,  and  will  continue  to  be  as 
long  as  Boston's  hopper  turns  out  effeminate  men  and 
bachelor  women  with  stomachs  fitted  to  assimilate 
only  the  stale  bread  and  dried  cabbages  of  the  crops 
of  decayed  ancestry,  and  with  brains  which  are  but 
the  left-overs  of  an  unsuppressible  past. 

The  floor  of  the  living  room   and  the  office  re- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  189 

sembled  the  undulating  surface  of  the  troubled 
waters.  Upon  the  walls  hung  framed  letters  of  old- 
time  men  and  portraits  of  old-fashioned  women. 
The  chairs  were  historically  uncomfortable,  and  the 
window  panes  were  so  close  together  that  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  glass,  a  Jerseyman  would  have  taken 
them  for  mosquito  nettings.  The  parlor,  with  its 
h'air-cloth  furniture  and  its  up-to-date  piano  and 
electric  lights,  reminded  one  of  a  half-shaven  face, — 
hair  on  one  side  and  razor-swept  on  the  other. 

Borrowing  a  pen  from  one  of  the  dozen  post-card 
fanatics,  who  occupied  all  of  the  writing  space,  Don 
registered  for  us.  An  imitation  of  a  town  crier, 
with  a  colonial  coat  and  a  modern  crease  in  his 
trousers,  gave  the  ancestral  dinner-cry  through  an 
up-to-date  megaphone.  * 

We  entered  the  space  walled  off  as  a  dining  room, 
which  was  once  occupied  by  three  low-studded 
chambers  and  a  shed. 

"  By  all  that's  queer ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  as  he 
took  up  the  bill  of  fare.  "  Look  at  this." 

Here  was  an  old  American  house,  fairly  saturated 
with  tradition,  with  a  bill  of  fare  written  in  the  im 
possible  vernacular  of  a  French-crammed  sopho 
more.  Not  a  single  dish  bore  an  American  title.  In 
desperation  Don  ordered  the  waiter  to  bring  him 
"  that,"  as  he  handed  her  the  sheet  upon  which  the 
eatables  were  scheduled. 


190  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

The  dinner  was  about  what  you  would  get  at  a 
second-rate  boarding  house,  except  that  each  viand 
had  a  historical  flavor  its  exclusive  own,  and  the 
sauces  and  gravies  carried  an  atmosphere  which 
fairly  smelled  of  the  days  when  meat  was  parboiled, 
and  all  the  vegetables  were  cooked  in  the  same 
water. 

The  room  was  so  musty  that  we  didn't  have  to  be 
told  that  we  were  temporarily  occupying  the  abode 
of  long-ago  sleeping  generations,  some  of  whom  were 
evidently  with  us.  In  nook  and  corner  rested  the 
cob-webbed  dust  from  their  last  sweepings. 

Filled  with  historical  atmosphere  and  some  food, 
we  paid  two  dollars  apiece, — twenty-five  cents  for 
what  we  ate,  and  a  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents  for 
the  air  that  surrounded  it. 

The  afternoon  run  brought  us  to  the  foothills  of 
the  mountains.  We  drove  up  to  one  of  those  big 
boxes  of  rooms,  garnished  with  a  fringe  of  veran 
das.  It  was  the  Hotel  de  Caste,  erected  by  the 
amateur  owner  of  a  dairy,  who  was  looking  for  a 
profitable  market  for  his  registered  milk  and  pedi 
greed  butter. 

By  the  use  of  a  poetical  booklet  and  fashionably 
adjectived  announcement,  it  had  attained  that  pecul 
iar  position  which  society  labels  exclusiveness,  but 
which  means  only  that  its  patronage  is  limited  to 
the  folks  with  the  price  about  them,- — the  patronage 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  191 

of  that  class  of  society  soapoids,  who  have  no  appe 
tite  save  for  the  stuff  that  is  served  in  imitation 
Havelin  and  the  seconds  of  imported  crockery. 

Men  in  waiter's  uniforms,  and  who  may  wait  upon 
the  waiters  when  merit  becomes  the  criterion  of  so 
ciety,  wilted  their  high  collars  in  the  breezeless  ro 
tunda;  and  women,  overcovered  below  and  under- 
draped  above,  listened  to  meaningless  words  and 
simpered  back  meaningless  replies.  And  yet  these 
puppets,  pulled  by  the  strings  of  society,  without 
heart,  sense,  or  gumption,  thought  that  they  were 
enjoying  relaxation  in  the  open. 

In  single-windowed  rooms  they  breathed  the  air 
they  had  brought  with  them,  and  three  times  a  day 
they  swallowed  the  gravies  of  mysterious  viands,  so 
oversauced  that  tripe  looked  like  liver  and  tasted 
like  quail,  and  the  pies  and  puddings  which  contained 
the  odors  of  the  laboratory  in  which  they  were  com 
pounded. 

The  size  of  our  auto  was  sufficient  to  unbend  the 
dandy  clerk,  who  ordered  six  "  fronts  "  to  surround 
us,  although  our  baggage  remained  in  the  car.  Don 
registered  for  all  of  us,  including  Jim. 

"  Seven   rooms  with   connecting  baths,"  he   said. 

"  But  there  are  only  six  of  you,"  replied  the 
clerk. 

"Seven,"  replied  Don,  "including  the  chauffeur." 

The  clerk  stared  at  us,  immediately  in-drew  his 


192  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

politeness,  and  remarked  stiffly,  "  The  chauffeur  will 
occupy  a  bunk  in  the  garage." 

"  Not  much,"  replied  Don  decidedly.  "  He's  to 
have  as  good  a  place  as  any  of  us." 

"  Sorry,"  said  the  clerk  stiffly,  "  but  this  is  a 
high-class  hotel,  and  its  refined  patronage  will  not 
permit  servants  to  occupy  guests'  rooms." 

"  Is  that  so ! "  returned  Don  drily,  and  then,  as 
he  pointed  to  a  jaundice- faced  bundle  of  fatty  de 
generation,  who  was  passing  near  us,  he  questioned, 
"  Is  that  a  sample  of  your  refinement?  " 

"That's  Major  Morse,  the  great  fertilizer  king," 
said  the  clerk  solemnly.  "  He  stays  here  all  sum 
mer." 

"  My  friend,"  replied  Don  impressively,  "  I  think 
too  much  of  my  chauffeur  to  expose  him  knowingly 
to  contagion,  and  the  rest  of  us  wouldn't  care  to  be 
disinfected.  We  appreciate  your  condescension, 
but,  really,  we're  not  fit  to  mingle  with  the  human 
collection  you  carry  in  your  menagerie.  We'll  go 
where  men  are  put  up  for  the  night." 

We  returned  to  the  car,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
were  alongside  of  a  small  and  modest  summer  hotel, 
which  had  an  air  of  neatness  and  respectability  that 
didn't  need  evening  dress  and  its  accompanying  fol 
lies  as  an  advertisement. 

We  were  given  the  rooms  we  asked  for,  and  none 
of  us,  including  Jim,  was  discriminated  against. 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  193 

Here  we  found  all  the  necessary  comforts,  and  none 
of  the  useless  luxuries  which  snobdom  demands. 

Within  the  dining-room  sat  with  their  families  a 
half-dozen  men  known  commercially  to  Don.  After 
supper  he  introduced  us. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  when  we  were  alone  under  one  of 
the  big  trees,  "  do  you  know,  any  one  of  the  men  I 
introduced  you  to  could  buy  Hotel  de  Caste,  more 
than  duplicate  the  aggregate  income  of  its  inmates, 
and  have  enough  left  over  to  keep  the  wolf  from  get 
ting  nearer  than  the  next  street.  I  recognized  a 
dozen  or  so  of  the  men  at  that  gilded  maze  of  fash 
ion,  and  some  of  'em  are  depositors  in  my  bank. 
Many  of  'em,  I  happen  to  know,  are  hard  up,  and 
our  bank  wouldn't  discount  their  paper  if  endorsed 
by  most  of  the  rest  of  'em." 

"But  how  do  they  do  it?"  inquired  Tom. 
"  Board  is  expensive  where  they  are,  and  I  take  it 
for  granted  that  most  of  them  have  autos  with 
chauffeurs,  and  that  some  of  the  women  have  lady's 
maids.  It  takes  money  to  live  the  way  they  do." 

"Yes,"  replied  Don  drily,  "it  uses  up  all  the 
money  they  have,  and  all  they  can  borrow,  and  they 
go  back  strapped." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  inquired  Walt,  "  that 
all  the  occupants  of  that  golden  cage  are  impecu 
nious  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Don.     "  Shoddy  never  inhabits 


194  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

a  place  wholly  unoccupied  by  wealth.  The  fashion 
able  hotel  manager,  if  he  knows  his  business,  always 
gets  into  his  house  a  few  men  with  property,  who, 
although  wealthy,  act  and  feel  like  snobs." 

"  Do  you  know,"  remarked  Arch,  "  that  in  no 
other  place  can  we  find  so  plentifully  distributed 
the  material  for  the  study  of  social  psychology,  as 
at  the  summer  resort?  Here  you  get  an  assortment 
of  human  samples,  such  as  is  not  likely  to  come  to 
gether  anywhere  else." 

"  How  about  the  theater  or  opera?  "  asked  Tom. 

"You  don't  find  them  there  in  their  full  activ 
ity,"  replied  Arch.  "There  may  be  as  large  a  va 
riety,  but  they  are  separated  into  groups,  and  don't 
move  about,  or  express  themselves,  or  associate  one 
with  another" 

"  Guess  you've  never  put  in  much  time  at  a  Bos 
ton  theater,"  retorted  Tom.  "  *  Don't  move 
about!'  Gee  whiz!  don't  they?  For  the  life  of  me 
I  can't  see  why  they  choose  an  auditorium  for  their 
conversation-playing.  I  have  many  a  time  vowed 
I  wouldn't  again  attend  a  performance  at  any  of  our 
high-toned  playhouses.  It's  mighty  seldom  that 
you  can  see  the  beginning  of  a  play  because  of  the 
folks  coming  in,  or  the  last  of  a  play  because  of 
the  folks  going  out,  or  much  of  the  middle  of  it  be 
cause  of  the  tongue-wagging  and  candy-chewing  of 
your  neighbors.  Many  a  time  I  have  resolved  to 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  195 

confine  my  entertainment-going  to  the  cheap  houses, 
where  the  audience  knows  that  it  must  keep  still  or 
get  out.  But  pardon  me  for  interrupting,  Arch." 

"  Acceptance  of  your  view  of  the  case,"  replied 
Arch  seriously,  "  does  not  controvert  the  tenets  of 
my  contention  that  the  summer  hotel  is  the  great 
melting-pot  of  society,  in  which  are  amalgamated 
the  several  and  diverse  elements  of  the  body  politic." 

"  Cut  out  the  amalgamation,"  interjected  Walt. 
"  They  may  get  into  a  mixture  all  right,  but  they 
don't  amalgamate  so  anybody  can  see  it." 

"  Rather  than  argue  with  one  of  your  species," 
replied  Arch,  "I  will  admit  the  correctness  of  your 
diagnosis,  particularly  as  it  does  not  materially  in 
terfere  with  the  burden  of  my  assumption." 

"  If  it  is  burdensome,"  remarked  Tom  drily, 
"  why  don't  you  ship  it  by  freight  and  not  try  to 
express  it  yourself?" 

"  One  of  us  has  got  to  shut  up,"  demanded  Arch, 
with  the  emphasis  of  irritation.  "  Take  your 
choice.  Shall  it  be  Tom  and  Walt,  or  me?" 

"  What's  the  matter  with  all  of  you  keeping 
still?"  sighed  Don  sleepily.  "Let's  go  to  bed." 

We  went,  and  the  solution  of  another  great  psy 
chological  problem  was  tabled  before  it  had  a  chance 
to  develop  into  something  probably  not  worth 
while. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

A  FTER  a  hearty  breakfast  of  food  that  is  food, 
•**•  with  quantity  so  mixed  with  quality  that  when 
eating  it  you  felt  that  you  were  accomplishing  some 
thing,  we  started  northward. 

The  highroad  ran  alongside  of  about  everything 
that  Nature  contributes  to  the  pleasure  of  folks 
who  don't  give  preference  to  the  artificial,  and  who 
prefer  to  see  originals  rather  than  spend  their 
time  with  imitations. 

Valley  ran  into  hill,  and  hill  into  mountain. 
Here  and  there  a  shining  streak  of  silver  smiled  at 
us,  then  darted  away  as  though  playing  hide  and 
seek  with  sunshine.  The  friendly  breeze  fanned  our 
cheeks,  and  the  cool,  bracing  air  clipped  off  half  of 
the  years  of  our  ages,  till  Arch  forgot  to  reason 
and  the  Professor  was  at  peace.  We  were  in  the 
circle  of  radiating  scenery,  where  each  turn  of  the 
eye  brought  new  beauties  to  admire. 

But  what's  the  use  of  attempting  to  paint  Na 
ture  with  a  typographical  brush?  Let  others,  who 
can't  do  it,  make  a  mess  of  it.  When  wonder-drink 
ing,  better  keep  your  tongue  at  "steady,"  or  you 
will  check  the  inflow. 

106 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  197 

After  a  while  Jim  remarked,  "Looks  like  fish  in 
that  stream." 

"Think  so?"  asked  Don. 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Tom. 

"  Well,"  remarked  Don,  "  I  waded  ten  miles  for 
an  inch  and  a  half  of  fish  hereabouts,  and  when  I  got 
it,  I  gave  it  back  to  the  lonesome  waters." 

We  didn't  stop  to  try  our  luck  and  patience. 

"  Speaking  of  fishing,"  remarked  Jim,  "  have  I 
told  you  the  best  fish  story  I  ever  heard?  " 

"No." 

"I  was  up  in  the  Rangeleys  three  years  ago," 
said  Jim,  "  chauffeuring  for  a  fellow  named  Colin 
Campbell  Cameron  Scott." 

"Was  he  a  Scotchman?"  inquired  Arch  inno 
cently. 

"  Guess  so,"  answered  Jim.  "  At  any  rate  he 
wasn't  Irish.  He  was  the  biggest  bunch  of  big  *  I ' 
this  side  of  total  conceit.  He  knew  more  than  it 
all.  There  wasn't  a  thing  he  hadn't  done,  nor  any 
where  he  hadn't  been." 

"  How  could  he  have  done  everything  and  been 
everywhere?  "  interrupted  Arch  soberly. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Arch,"  ejaculated  Walt. 
"  Go  on,  Jim." 

"  We  were  at  one  of  those  big  log-cabin  camps 
on  an  inlet  just  off  the  lake.  Evenings  we  got  to 
gether  round  a  fireplace,  and  each  took  his  turn  at 


198  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

lying.  There  was  a  fellow  who'd  summered  there 
about  twenty  years.  According  to  his  tell,  he'd 
caught  more  fish,  and  larger  ones,  than  the  whole 
State  of  Maine  ever  had.  He  and  my  boss  got  at 
each  other,  and,  say,  it  was  fun.  The  fur  would 
have  flown,  if  either  of  'em  had  had  any." 

"  '  Talk  about  your  big  fish,'  said  the  Scotchman, 
'  you  ought  to  see  what  we  catch  in  the  Scottish 
lakes.  There  ain't  none  to  reach  'em  by  a  foot  up 
here.  We  don't  think  anything  of  pulling  in  a  hun 
dred  or  more  of  ten-pounders  in  a  morning  there.' 

"  Then  the  other  fellow  would  let  loose,  and  spring 
sizes  on  us  you'd  have  to  go  twice  with  a  yardstick 
to  measure,  while  the  rest  of  us  sat  and  listened. 

"  By  and  by  a  little,  wizened-up  chap,  who'd  been 
keeping  still  in  a  corner,  spoke  up. 

"  *  I've  been  listening  to  your  talk,'  said  he,  *  and 
I  ain't  going  to  say  I  think  either  one  of  you  have 
been  stretching  the  length  of  your  fish,  'cause  I've 
seen  fish  so  long  that  yourn  would  look  like  cunners 
alongside  of  'em.  Any  of  you  chaps  ever've  thrown 
a  line  off  of  the  coast  of  Labrador?' 

"  '  No,'  replied  a  dozen  of  us. 

" '  Well,  I  did,  summer  'fore  last.  Some  of  us 
chartered  a  schooner,  and  spent  a  couple  of  months 
up  there.  One  day  we  got  into  a  sort  of  cove  where 
the  water  was  smooth.  We  went  ashore,  where  we 
found  an  old  shanty.  As  we'd  been  living  aboard 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  199 

•ship  for  a  few  weeks,  we  thought  we'd  camp  out 
awhile  on  shore,  so  we  brought  over  a  lot  of  bed 
ding,  etc.,  and  put  in  a  week. 

"  *  One  morning,  when  the  other  fellows  were 
sleeping,  I  thought  I'd  surprise  'em  by  giving  'em 
a  fish  breakfast,  so  I  went  out  on  the  rocks  and  hove 
a  line.  In  about  ten  minutes  I'd  hauled  in  about 
twenty  of  the  biggest  fish  I'd  ever  set  eyes  on.' 

"'What  were  they?'  asked  the  Scotchman  con 
descendingly. 

"'Don't  know,'  replied  the  chap  who  was  telling 
the  story,  'but  they  were  biggers,  fourteen  times 
larger  than  anything  I'd  ever  caught.' 

" '  Maybe  they  were  whales,'  remarked  the  other 
fisherman  derisively. 

" '  Whales,  you  fool ! '  exclaimed  the  Labradorian, 
'  I  baited  with  whale !  * 

"  The  Scotchman  and  the  other  braggart  spelled 
each  other  in  shutting  up." 

"  Jim,"  said  Arch  soberly,  "  how  was  it  possible 
for  your  friend  to  affix  a  whale  on  to  his  hook,  as 
suming  that  the  hook  was  of  sufficient  caliber  to  be 
used  for  that  purpose?  And  if  he  did  accomplish 
this  apparently  impossible  feat,  how  did  he,  un 
aided,  land  his  catch?  " 

The  motor  stopped  with  a  jerk.  There  were 
questions  in  Arch's  philosophy  that  would  check  the 
flow  of  even  an  enlarged  Niagara. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

WHILE  none  of  us,  save  Don,  had  his  name 
upon  the  State's  auto  register,  and,  like  a 
convict,  was  known  by  number,  we  had  ridden  in 
rubber-necked,  sight-seeing  autos,  and  had  accepted 
free  invitations  from  motor-car  friends.  Conse 
quently  we  were  familiar  with  auto  etiquette.  With 
the  exception  of  the  Professor,  we  ignored  the  stop 
page,  and  appeared  not  to  realize  that  we  were  not 
in  motion. 

For  this  silence,  Jim  was  duly  thankful.  There 
are  times  when  shut-up-ness  is  the  best  aid  to  the 
injured. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  a  good  one  on  Arch  ?  "  Walt  in 
quired,  to  fill  up  a  gap  in  the  conversation. 

"No,"  replied  Tom,  "but  go  ahead,  and  get  it 
out  of  your  system.  You're  bound  to  spring  it 
sometime,  so  let  it  off  when  we  are  feeling  strong 
enough  to  stand  it." 

Thus  encouraged,  Walt  began: 

"You  know  the  Future  Club?  " 

"I've  heard  of  it,"  Tom  replied.  "You,  and 
Arch,  and  the  Professor  belong  to  it,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

200 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  201 

"  Well,  it  ought  to  suit  Arch  and  the  Professor, 
but  I  don't  see  where  you  come  into  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Walt,  as  he  fell  into  the  open 
door. 

"  You've  some  sense,  altogether  too  much  to  fra 
ternize  with  that  crowd  of  mouth-workers,  who, 
when  they  get  together,  pump  wind  enough  to  give 
steerage  way  to  all  the  flying  machines  the  sky  can 
accommodate." 

"  Better  whirl  with  the  wind  than  stagnate  in 
holes,"  retorted  Walt.  "  Maybe  we  don't  get  there 
while  we  talk  there,  but  if  it  wasn't  for  the  kind  of 
breezes  we  stir  up,  some  of  you  outsiders  would  find 
the  air  mighty  close." 

"I'm  willing  to  give  talk  the  credit  it's  entitled 
to,"  responded  Tom,  "  but  somehow  I  like  a  little 
stiffer  stuff  back  of  it, — something  to  start  up  with, 
or  something  for  it  to  blow  against." 

"It's  there  all  right,"  replied  Walt,  "but  some 
folks  are  so  wind-proof  you've  got  to  peel  'em  be 
fore  you'll  find  a  crevice  sensitive  enough  to  feel 
anything  short  of  a  tornado." 

"  I  went  there  once,"  remarked  Tom,  "  when  you 
fellows  got  up  and  roasted  Japan,  Roumania,  Scan 
dinavia,  Bolivia,  and  the  tip  ends  of  South  America 
and  Africa;  and  you  braves  just  sailed  into  abuses 
too  far  off  to  feel  the  little  typhoon  you  started. 
Why  don't  you  get  nearer  home  once  in  a  while?" 


202  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

"  We  do  sometimes,"  responded  Walt.  "  Do  you 
recall  our  crusade  against  the  present  deplorable 
condition  of  the  modern  drama?  " 

"  Pshaw !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  I  read  about  that 
in  the  papers.  It  made  about  as  much  of  an  im 
pression  as  would  the  kid  gloves  you  chaps  wear 
when  up  against  the  boxers  in  the  real  ring.  You 
hemmed  and  hawed,  generalized,  and  then  closed  up 
with  a  selected  lot  of  resolves  couched  in  language 
which  even  the  dictionaries  shy  at,  too  weak  and 
lifeless  to  bother  a  feather  in  a  vacuum.  Your 
meetings  remind  me  of  a  big  pump  on  exhibition  at 
the  Mechanics'  Fair.  It  took  up  a  lot  of  room,  was 
painted  red,  with  brass  trimmings,  and  made  a 
noise.  But  it  pumped  water  out  of  a  tank  back  into 
the  same  tank.  That's  what  I  call  wasted  energy, — 
a  sort  of  curved  bullet  that  hits  the  fellow  who  fired 
it,  and  doesn't  interfere  with  anybody  en  route." 

"  Now  that  you've  relieved  yourself,  Tom,"  said 
Walt  calmly,  "I'll  proceed  with  my  story." 

"Wait  until  I  light  my  pipe,"  said  Tom.  "I 
cannot  give  proper  attention  to  two  important 
events  at  the  same  time." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  will  be  interested  in  any  nar 
rative  that  concerns  my  learned  friend  Arch," 
called  the  Professor  from  under  the  car.  "  What 
big  discovery  did  he  make?  " 

"  Discovery    nothing !  "     resumed   Walt.       "  It's 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB  203 

what  he  didn't  do  that  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about. 
A  year  or  so  ago  I  was  appointed  stated  speaker  at 
one  of  the  Future  Club  meetings " 

"How  did  you  work  it?"  interrupted  Don. 

"  Merit, — pure,  undefiled  merit  did  it,"  responded 
Walt.  "  Occasionally  real  talent  is  recognized." 

"Go  on,"  said  Don,  "guess  we  can  stand  it." 

"  If  you  fellows  have  any  more  interruptions  to 
sling,  I  pray  you  chuck  'em  now.  I'll  not  start  un 
til  I'm  sure  of  a  clear  course." 

"  Cast  off  your  fasts,  and  get  into  the  stream," 
said  Don. 

"  Weigh  anchor  and  let  her  go,"  remarked  Tom. 

"  Look  out  for  rocks ! "  exclaimed  Don.  "  It 
looks  shallow." 

"  Head  her  up  into  the  wind,"  remarked  Tom. 

"  Isn't  it  most  time  to  tack?  "  inquired  I. 

"How  can  he  tack  before  he  is  under  way?  "  asked 
Arch  seriously. 

"It's  your  turn,"  said  Walt,  shouting  to  the  Pro 
fessor.  "  If  you  have  any  flings  to  sling,  let  her 
went." 

But  the  Professor  was  too  far  under  to  hear. 

"  I'll  tell  this  story  to  Jim,"  said  Walt  quietly. 

"  What's  Jim  done?  "  asked  Tom. 

Walt  didn't  reply  for  a  moment,  then  at  the  re 
quest  of  Don  he  resumed. 

"  Well,  it  was  my  day  at  the  club.     I  had  been 


204  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

mighty  busy,  and  hadn't  had  time  to  fix  up  any 
thing,  but  I  didn't  want  to  disappoint  the  large 
gathering  which  had  braved  the  storm  to  hear  me." 

"  One  of  those  winds  which  doesn't  blow  good  to 
anybody,"  interrupted  Tom. 

"  Would  the  disappointment  have  damaged 
them?  "  queried  Don. 

"Boys!"  shouted  Walt,  "I'm  going  to  tell  this 
story  if  I  have  to  chloroform  you!  Will  you  have 
it  now,  or  get  it  later?  " 

"Better  now,"  said  Tom  resignedly. 

"  As  I  hadn't  prepared  my  speech,  I  had  to  talk 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,"  continued  Walt. 

"  Did  the  spur  hurt  you?"  asked  Don  sympa 
thetically. 

Walt  took  no  notice  of  the  remark,  but  resumed: 

"  You  know  that  most  of  the  speakers  read  from 
manuscripts " 

"  I  believe  you,"  interjected  Tom.  "If  it  weren't 
so,  they'd  be  talking  still." 

But  Walt  continued: 

"  So  I  thought  I'd  do  a  double  act, — explain  how 
I  was  fixed,  and  hit  'em  at  the  same  time.  I  got  up 
and  said :  *  Fellow  members,  I'm  here  without  a 
written  speech.  Unfortunately  I've  been  too  busy 
to  give  the  subject  necessary  preparation.'  Then 
I  stopped,  so  as  to  get  'em  in  a  condition  to  appre 
ciate  what  was  coming.  Striking  a  dramatic  atti- 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  205 

tude  and  rolling  my  eyes,  I  pushed  out  both  my 
arms,  and  remarked,  *  I'd  rather  be  an  extempora 
neous  fool  than  a  premeditated  ass.' ' 

Walt  paused  to  receive  the  appreciative  laughter 
he  confidently  expected.  But  not  a  lip  twitched, 
nor  an  eye  danced. 

"What's  the  joke?"  asked  Tom  quietly. 

"  Maybe  you're  both,"  I  suggested. 

"Where  does  Arch  come  in?"  inquired  Don  so 
berly. 

Walt  glared  at  us,  and  casting  a  look  of  sublime 
pity  upon  us,  he  continued: 

"Arch  was  there.  He'd  been  eating  a  dinner  at 
my  expense,  and  was  naturally  in  a  condition  to  ap 
preciate  my  humor." 

"  Better  feed  us  before  you  start  another,"  sug 
gested  Tom  significantly. 

But  Walt  kept  on. 

"Arch  joined  in  the  burst  of  laughter  that  filled 
the  hall." 

"Then  the  hall  wasn't  empty?"  interjected  Don. 

"  If  you'd  been  there,  it  would  have  been  emptier," 
retorted  Walt.  And  he  continued: 

"  After  it  was  all  over,  Arch  came  to  me  and 
said,  '  Walt,  old  boy,  that  "  extemporaneous  fool " 
idea  of  yours  caught  the  crowd.  Was  it  original 
with  you?  ' 

"I  told  him  that  it  was. 


206  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

" '  Best  thing  you  ever  said,'  continued  Arch. 
'  I'm  going  to  use  it  in  my  business.  Next  time  I 
lecture,  I'll  spring  it  on  the  audience.' 

"  I  didn't  see  Arch  for  a  week  or  two.  When  I 
met  him  he  was  boiling  with  rage,  and  he  overflowed 
on  me. 

"  *  Say,  Walt,  you  chump,'  he  exclaimed,  '  next 
time  I  work  off  any  of  your  old  stuff,  I'll  be  older 
than  I  am  now ! " 

*"  Where  did  you  spring  it?'  I  asked. 

" '  Went  up  to  Concord  night  before  last,'  he 
replied,  'to  lecture  on  Social  Stagnation,  and  I 
threw  that  remark  of  yours  at  the  audience.  But 
I  didn't  get  a  hand,  nobody  laughed,  and  it  fell 
flat.' 

"'  When  did  you  let  it  loose?  '  I  inquired. 

" '  Oh,'  replied  Arch  soberly,  '  I  didn't  think  of 
it  at  the  beginning,  so  pushed  it  in  as  a  sort  of 
climax.' ' 

Arch  had  been  listening  intently,  but  didn't  join 
in  the  general  laugh.  Instead  he  turned  to  us,  and 
asked,  "What's  the  matter?" 

But  we  didn't  tell  him. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

WHILE  the  conversation  held  us  in  its  grip, 
and  we  were  oblivious  to  outside  influences, 
our  auto  was  standing  still,  either  because  Arch's  vo 
cabulary  had  clogged  the  bearings,  or  for  inside 
reasons.  Hitherto  there  hadn't  been  a  hitch  to  our 
going. 

Jim  had  quietly  and  systematically  set  to  work, 
and  with  marvelous  self-control  didn't  resent  the 
stream  of  technical  questions  thrown  at  him  by  the 
Professor,  who,  devoid  of  coat,  was  sprawling  under 
and  crawling  over  the  machinery,  working  persist 
ently  with  his  mouth.  At  last,  Jim,  in  desperation, 
grabbed  him  by  the  arm  and  forcibly  led  him  to  a 
place  by  the  side  of  the  road,  where  he  pushed  him 
into  one  of  those  rustic  seats,  which  some  kindly 
summerer  had  erected  for  the  common  good  and  as 
a  means  of  exposing  his  name, — an  advertisement  of 
his  inexpensive  philanthropy.  The  Professor  made 
no  resistance.  He  was  busily  talking  to  himself 
about  things  which  may  have  had  to  do  with  motor 
ing,  but  his  language  was  too  dense  for  us  to  com 
prehend  its  meaning. 

207 


208  THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

Returning  to  the  car,  Jim  asked  with  emphasis, 
"Who's  been  monkeying  with  this  machine?" 

"  I  have,"  answered  the  Professor.  "  I  spent 
half  the  night  inspecting  it,  and  have  discovered 
many  imperfections  in  the  equipment  and  adjust 
ment,  which,  fortunately,  I  was  able  to  correct  with 
the  tools  at  my  command." 

"  Did  you  take  out  that  carburetor?  "  asked  Jim, 
while  his  face  reddened. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Professor.  "I  borrowed  one 
of  a  neighboring  car,  which  embodied  my  ideas  of 
what  a  carburetor  should  be." 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  one  that  was  there?  " 
shouted  Jim,  as  his  face  twitched  and  his  fists  grew 
in  size. 

"  I  put  it  in  back  somewhere.  " 

Jim  fished  it  out  from  under  the  rear  seat,  and  in 
a  few  moments  had  it  in  place. 

"  Who  in  thunder  changed  those  spark  plugs  ?  " 

"  I  substituted  some  I  always  carry  with  me,"  re 
marked  the  Professor  calmly. 

Jim  turned  to  Don,  and,  holding  himself  together 
with  a  mighty  effort,  while  his  whole  body  pulsated 
with  anger,  said,  "  Mr.  Bennett,  may  I  express  my 
self?  I've  got  a  say  inside  of  me,  and  I'll  choke  if 
I  don't  let  it  come  out." 

"  Go  ahead,"  replied  Don,  as  he  winked  at  us. 

Jim  gave  his  trousers  a  hitch,  strode  up  to  where 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  209 

the  Professor  sat,  and  let  loose  a  torrent  of  mixed 
metaphor,  which  would  have  cracked  the  receiving 
plate  of  a  phonograph,  and  smashed  to  smithereens 
the  talking  end  of  a  telephone.  His  words  poured 
out  of  him  in  a  breathless  stream  of  emphatics.  His 
body  swayed,  and  his  legs  danced  accompaniments 
to  his  vociferation. 

We  sat  in  the  car,  while  the  tears  poured  down 
our  cheeks.  The  Professor,  absent  with  his 
thoughts,  made  no  reply  to  what  he  didn't  hear,  but 
Jim  remained  on  the  firing  line,  pouring  hot  air  and 
blasts  of  flame-curling  scorn  at  him,  until  satisfied 
that  the  Professor  was  bomb-proof.  Exhausted, 
and  with  his  tongue  hanging  out  of  his  mouth,  he 
returned  to  the  car.  It  took  him  an  hour  to  get 
things  back  into  place,  and  longer  to  restore  his 
equilibrium.  His  hands  and  mouth  spelled  each 
other  in  competitive  activity. 

I  have  attended  socialistic  gatherings,  have  been 
scorched  by  political  fireworks,  and  have  been  hit 
by  the  vocal  bullets  of  peace-convention  battles. 
But  I  never  heard  nor  saw  a  display  of  word  pyro 
technics  which  approached  in  volume  or  in  intensity 
the  lightning  and  thunder  which  Jim  let  loose  upon 
the  Professor.  Untutored  though  he  may  have 
been,  he  exhausted  the  dictionary,  and  coined  ex 
pressive  words  and  sentences,  until  he  had  generated 
a  sweeping  fire,  whose  forked  flames  crackled  and 


210  THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

roared  as  they  belched  forth  from  his  over-heated 
interior. 

At  last,  when  the  job  had  been  finished  and  the 
motor  was  returned  to  normal,  Jim  threw  himself 
upon  the  ground,  closed  his  eyes,  and  whispered, 
"Won't  somebody  throw  a  pail  of  water  over  me? 
I  smell  smoke." 

The  Professor  all  the  time  was  mumbling  to  him 
self.  We  called  to  him,  but  he  heard  us  not. 

"  Guess  we'll  have  to  help  him  in,"  said  Don. 
Here's  your  chance,  Jim.  Get  the  Professor  into 
the  car." 

Jim  sprang  to  his  work.  With  rolled-up  sleeves 
and  fire  in  his  eyes,  he  gathered  the  Professor  unto 
himself,  and  fairly  hurled  him  into  the  back  seat. 

The  Professor  pulled  himself  together,  and  re 
marked  quietly,  "  Yes,  I  must  be  correct  in  my 
analysis  of  the  coherent  relations  of " 

Gently  Tom  placed  his  handkerchief  on  the  Pro 
fessor's  mouth,  and  held  it  there,  while  the  Pro 
fessor,  to  the  music  of  his  own  mumbling,  went  off 
to  sleep. 

We  struck  a  sandy  road,  so  soft  that  it  looked  as 
though  the  wheels  couldn't  turn  us  through.  For 
half  an  hour  we  seemed  to  be  in  a  treadmill,  the  poor 
engine  doing  its  best  to  make  the  wheels  advance. 

"  Get  out  back,  and  talk  to  it,"  suggested  Don, 
as  he  looked  at  Walt.  "  Deliver  that  speech  you 


THE   KNOCKERS'   CLUB  211 

worked  off  at  the  convention  of  women's  clubs.  The 
machine  will  do  its  best  to  get  away." 

"  If  my  speech  won't  start  it,"  remarked  Walt 
drily,  "  you  get  out  ahead  and  let  go  one  of  your 
jokes.  If  there  is  a  spark  of  get- there  in  the  car, 
it  will  run  you  down." 

"  Rub  some  of  your  anti-skid  psychology  on  the 
tires,  Arch,"  suggested  Tom. 

Meanwhile  Jim  had  so  maneuvered  that  the  car 
worked  itself  out  of  the  depth  of  sand,  and  we  were 
again  speeding  between  the  no  longer  tree-protected 
mountains,  which  commercial  highwaymen  had 
stripped  and  mutilated. 

We  had  procured  a  lunch  at  one  of  those  country 
tea  rooms,  which  serve  city  meat  and  milk  fresh  from 
the  condensery;  for  that  peculiar  and  mysterious 
tabulation  of  misinformation,  the  auto  guide,  had 
hinted  at  the  possibility  of  the  absence  of  good  din 
ing  places. 

"  We'll  stop  here  and  eat,"  said  Don,  as  we  en 
tered  a  glen  which  had  escaped  the  woodchoppers. 

Jim  took  charge  of  the  eatables.  Spreading  robes 
upon  the  grass,  and  using  the  unread  pages  of  the 
papers  we  had  bought  for  tablecloths,  he  gave  an 
appetizing  appearance  to  the  canned  and  cartoned 
food  we  had  purchased.  For  the  looks  of  things 
does  count  mightily,  especially  when  you  have  to  eat 
them. 


THE    KNOCKERS'   CLUB 

Surrounded  by  the  whispering  pines  and  the  sing 
ing  water  (permission  to  use  these  words  obtained 
from  the  "  New  Century  Magazine  ") ,  it  seemed  to 
us  that  wilted  crackers  were  as  crisp  as  sun-kissed 
codfish,  and  that  the  confined  meat  smelled  of  the 
freshness  of  just  gathered  roses. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

nnOM  was  a  deep-stained  Republican,  so  thor- 
-••  oughly  dyed  that  all  the  laundries  in  the  world 
working  overtime  couldn't  have  bleached  out  his  bias. 
Walt  was  an  iron-clad  and  metal-shod  Democrat, 
who  would  rather  be  kicked  by  his  party  donkey 
than  ride  to  victory  on  the  back  of  the  Republican 
elephant.  Arch  was  one  of  those  undependable, 
vacillating,  front-advancing,  backsliding,  never- 
stick-anywhere  Independents.  It  was  good  for  him 
that  he  was,  because  it  kept  his  bump  of  reason  on 
the  move  and  gave  his  psychological  faculties  op 
portunity  to  exercise. 

Don  wasn't  a  Republican,  or  a  Democrat,  or  a 
Political  Independent.  He  was  a  citizen,  one  of 
those  unusual  and  peculiar  fellows  who  stood  for 
men  and  measures,  giving  preference  to  one  of  the 
great  parties  unless  conditions  were  too  raw  and 
rank  to  permit  a  decent  man  to  cast  a  ballot  of  self- 
respect  at  its  polls.  Then  he  held  his  nose,  and 
voted  for  the  opposite  candidate. 

After  we  had  sat  awhile,  enjoying  the  good  di 
gestion  which  follows  appetite,  thinking  of  nothing 
save  our  own  thoughts, — the  preposition  may  be 

213 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

omitted, — and  watching  the  curling  and  ringing  of 
the  smoke  which  came  from  our  pipes,  Tom  re 
marked  : 

«  »» 

The  report  of  this  discussion  will  not  appear  in 
this  or  any  other  book.  There  are  times  when  dis 
cretion  is  the  better  part  of  me,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  antagonize  the  book-buying  public,  which  may, 
in  a  moment  of  irresponsibility,  buy  the  book,  if  it 
judges  it  by  appearances. 

Then,  what  is  to  be  gained  by  recording  it?  Take 
any  political  discussion, — don't  select  it,  but  collar 
it  as  it  comes, — photograph  it  upon  a  plate  that  is 
not  sensitive,  and  then  expose  the  plate  to  a  dozen 
more,  and  you  won't  blur  the  impression.  They're 
all  alike,  different  only  in  the  variance  and  peculiari 
ties  of  their  illogical  presentation. 

Because  a  partisan  doesn't  know  why  he  is  a  par 
tisan,  he  hasn't  any  idea  of  what  is  wrong  with  his 
party  or  what  is  good  about  the  others. 

And  the  Independent, — he  is  like  a  weather-beaten 
vane,  never  pointing  to  anywhere  in  particular,  but 
just  swinging  about,  sure  to-day  and  sorry  for  it 
to-morrow. 

Instead,  I  will  report  a  wrangle  over  a  not-yet 
unraveled  puzzle,  with  an  answer,  which,  when  dis 
covered,  will  not  be  worth  what  it  cost  to  get  it. 
Queer,  is  it  not,  that  men  of  mind,  and  men  of 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB  215 

money,  and  men  with  some  of  both,  and  men  with 
none  of  either,  will  burn  good  oil  trying  to  locate 
the  answer  of  what  isn't  worth  the  solution? 

The  foregoing  sentences  pleased  me.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  ring  about  them,  which  sounded  good 
to  my  ears.  Smooth,  are  they  not?  And  slightly 
adulterated  with  the  scholarly?  Mighty  good 
chance,  thought  I,  for  the  display  of  flowery  litera 
ture,  which  grows  so  abundantly  in  the  hot  houses 
of  modern  story. 

I  give  you  my  most  solemn  word  that  when  I 
penned  these  lines,  I  thought  I  could  deliver  the 
goods,  but  I  can't.  Really,  I  fail  to  summon  any 
subject  that  will  illustrate  what  I  believed  I  was 
going  to  accomplish  when  I  inadvertently  took 
chances  with  what  I  thought  I  possessed.  I  fell  into 
a  self-made  trap,  and  in  the  fall,  its  ragged  edges 
stripped  me  of  my  conceit,  stranded  me  upon  the 
bars  just  outside  the  sea  of  brilliancy.  I  am  stuck, 
that's  all. 

Is  it  not  better  manfully  to  admit  my  Waterloo, 
than  to  make  a  bluff  attempt  to  puncture  the  im 
pregnable  rocks  before  me,  and  lacerate  myself, 
that  the  reader  my  laugh  at  my  just  punishment? 

Years  ago  my  weather-beaten  nose  of  inquiry 
taught  me  to  anchor  when  there  was  fog  ahead. 

The  auto  is  running  smoothly.  The  air  is  cool 
and  bracing.  The  sunbeams  are  dancing  on  the 


THE    KNOCKERS'    CLUB 

mountain  streams.  There  is  no  rain  in  the  soft  blue 
of  the  sky,  and  the  earth  needs  no  watering.  The 
gentle  breezes  are  playing  among  the  trees,  and  all 
the  world  in  sight  is  dressed  in  holiday  attire,  and 
without  a  suggestion  of  the  shadows  whose  falling 
is  not  thought  of,  as  we,  in  full  fellowship,  and 
drinking  from  out  the  brimming  cup  of  cheerful 
ness,  bowl  along  the  highway  of  pleasure. 

Why  take  chances  with  the  morrow?  Why  inter 
fere  with  to-morrow's  business?  Why  give  the  Pro 
fessor  opportunity  to  block  the  motor?  Why^  allow 
Tom  to  repeat  his  many-time-told  stories?  Why 
permit  Walt  to  touch  the  trigger  of  our  sensitive 
ness?  Why  retard  Don  in  his  money-making? — 
for  we  may  need  his  savings  next  year.  Why  not 
let  Arch's  reason  rest  in  the  seclusion  of  its  palpi 
tating  self?  Why  not  give  Jim  a  vacation? 

So  now,  in  the  quiet  of  the  retiring  day,  when  the 
air  is  sleepy  and  the  birds  are  still,  I  will  not  longer 
suppress  the  call  for  silence,  but  will  say 


GOOD-BYE 


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